


that romeo and juliet scene that could've been

by GlassRose



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bisexual Steve Rogers, Gay Bucky Barnes, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2020-08-20 23:15:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20235976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassRose/pseuds/GlassRose
Summary: He wasfurious. They had stoleneverythingfrom him. They had stolen his freedom, his mind, his ability to choose, his happiness, because this video showed he had been happy once upon a time, his friend, his Steve Rogers, and he was going to claw it back, because they didn't deserve to win. They had pointed him like a weapon at someone who used to care for him and pulled the trigger. They did not get to determine his future anymore.Was Steve even still alive? He was enhanced, and people had found him, so James hoped he'd made it to a doctor. If Steve was dead, James was going to kill every HYDRA operative on the planet.He had been staring at the museum display for too long without keeping an eye on his surroundings. He turned his head slowly to check for anyone dangerous. Tourists, locals, kids, docents, and there, across the crowd, a tall man in a blue baseball cap. James' heart rate picked up, but it probably wasn't--





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a [tweet thread](https://twitter.com/arthur_affect/status/1120960078205472768?lang=en) about how the museum stinger at the end of TWS was cut short, and originally Steve and Bucky found each other in that scene. We all mourn the loss of such a shippy scene and Cap 3: Serpent Society that never came to pass. Ah well.

The Asset stared at the picture of the man with his face. He could no longer deny the truth: that Pierce had lied to him, constantly, and what they did to him, sending lightning through his head, was all just to take James Buchanan Barnes away from him.

It had worked. He didn't know Barnes.

There was a video playing of the target--of Steve and James, black and white, laughing at each other. The Asset, no, he wasn't what they called him. He was James, he was Bucky, he couldn't get himself back if he didn't demand it. Bucky could  _ feel _ that moment, watching the video, but he didn't remember it, didn't know what they were saying, didn't know what it meant.

He was _furious_. They had stolen  _ everything _ from him. They had stolen his freedom, his mind, his ability to choose, his happiness, because this video showed he had been happy once upon a time, his friend, his Steve Rogers, and he was going to claw it back, because they didn't deserve to win. They had pointed him like a weapon at someone who used to care for him and pulled the trigger. They did not get to determine his future anymore.

Was Steve even still alive? He was enhanced, and people had found him, so James hoped he'd made it to a doctor. If Steve was dead, James was going to kill every HYDRA operative on the planet.

He had been staring at the museum display for too long without keeping an eye on his surroundings. He turned his head slowly to check for anyone dangerous. Tourists, locals, kids, docents, and there, across the crowd, a tall man in a blue baseball cap. James' heart rate picked up, but it probably wasn't--

The man turned his head and they locked eyes. It was Steve, and he was okay. James couldn't tear his eyes away as Steve gave him a soft, tentative smile. James' body screamed at him to run, but he ignored it. Steve wasn't his captors. Steve was his savior. Steve was walking toward him right now and his body was locked up and what the hell was he afraid of, Steve wasn't going to hurt him...again...and the Asset wasn't a person and he wasn't supposed to be running wild like this, he was...he was…

"I hoped I'd find you," Steve said as he came up beside him. "I was afraid you'd left town."

The Asset couldn't speak.

"Are you okay? Is your shoulder okay? I'm sorry I...I'm sorry."

Was it supposed to talk? What did Steve think it was? What did Steve want? What...what…

"Bucky," Steve said, jolting the Asset--Bucky into remembering he was a person now. "Do you know me?"

"No," Bucky said. "Yes. I know...I knew you. I don't know...I don't know." Because Steve might give him honest answers. He wasn't like Pierce. Ah, shit. Pierce. "Is he looking for me?"

"Is who?"

"Pierce."

"Oh." Steve shook his head. "No, Buck. Pierce is dead. Fury had to kill him."

Huh. Fury was alive too. That should feel like a failure, but instead it felt like rebellion.

"Would you come home with me?"

He should. Steve could watch over him, make sure the--Bucky didn't hurt the wrong people, and so on. But. What if he hurt Steve again? What if that feeling he got when he looked at the video meant nothing and never came back?

But…what if he couldn't survive on his own because everything he knew about being a person had been taken from him and he needed a handler?

He looked back at the picture of his face. "Will you tell me about him?"

"Yeah, Bucky," Steve said. "I'll tell you everything you want to know. And then some, probably."

Bucky didn't look at him. Just kept looking at the displays. "I don't want to be hit anymore," he said, because somehow this was a negotiation, and he had to hold on to what power he could as long as he could.

"No, I...I'm sorry, I didn't want to fight you, but there were 20 million lives at stake."

Steve was stupid. "Not the fight. He hit me if I wasn't functioning properly."

"I would never do that. I won't let anyone hurt you. I promise." Steve took a breath. "I can't imagine what you've been through, but I'll do anything to help you. You're my best friend. I love you."

James/Bucky/whoever he was wanted that. He didn't feel safe wanting it, but he wanted it. But Steve had been a person for a while and he had other people, probably. "Did the other target die?" he asked, because Steve might not love him if he'd killed his friends.

"Oh, Natasha? She's okay."

"And the other man with you?"

"Sam is fine too. He had a parachute."

Good. So he could still negotiate. "I'm a person," he said. "You can't use the chair on a person."

"What is the chair?" Steve asked, a cold edge to his voice.

Did he really not know or was he just pretending? "It hurt and it made me forget."

"I don't want you to hurt or forget anything," Steve said. He sounded so sincere. "I wouldn't do that to anyone. I would  _ never _ in a million years do that to you."

"I don't want to be a prisoner anymore," Bucky blurted out.

"I just want to give you a safe place to stay," Steve said. "I'll help you remember who you were."

"But what if I don't? What if he's gone forever and I never get him back?"

"You will."

"I don't know that."

Steve very slowly reached for his hand. Bucky eyed it but let him take it. "Then you're still my best friend, and we can make new memories."

Bucky wanted very much to be someone's friend instead of someone's weapon. That was who he was supposed to be. Who he used to be. A person's identity, not a thing. "Okay," he said, finally, and Steve gave him a smile so sweet his stomach churned and his skin went all hot because he was broken and terrible at understanding feelings.

"Did you want to stay and look around?"

Bucky looked around at the crowd. They weren't watching him, but it felt like they were. Maybe Steve's place would be calmer. "No," he said. "Let's go home."


	2. Chapter 2

Steve gave his hand a quick squeeze and they started walking. "Is that my coat?" Bucky asked, pointing at the Howlies display.

"Yeah," Steve said. "Your spare, yeah."

"I want it."

"I'll talk to the curator, but maybe not until tomorrow. They're already mad at me for stealing mine and bleeding all over it."

Bucky stopped and took his hand out of his pocket to reach for Steve's stomach.

"I'm fine," Steve said. "I heal fast. I'll show you at home. We shouldn't do this here."

"I…" Bucky swallowed. "I didn't know."

"I know. It's not your fault."

"It...but…" Bucky shook his head. "I didn't have to shoot you, but I did."

"Hey," Steve said, taking Bucky's other hand, "you saved me. I'm okay."

He didn't seem real. Bucky had nearly killed him, and Steve had given him his name back and was touching him kindly, not to maintain his body or knock him around or control him. He knew most people did not live the way he did, in a small world of chains and cryostasis and lies and the chair, the goddamn chair, but to see this world offered to him was something almost beyond imagining. "Let's go home," he said again, and Steve nodded, releasing his left hand and leading him out of the museum.

Steve bought Bucky a metro card at L'Enfant and they took the rail back to Dupont Circle. Bucky stared out of the window and watched the stations pass them by. They switched to the red line at the Center Station. Steve hadn't let go of his hand once since the museum, but he did when they reached the apartment to get his keys out. "It's not in the best shape," Steve admitted as he opened the door. "Uh, because of the...thing…"

Bucky was confused. "What thing?"

"Um, you shot Fury here. Through the wall. You don't remember?"

Only vaguely. "Oh. I guess."

"Yeah. Well, I was thinking about moving. Getting a place for both of us, like we used to have."

He was probably telling the truth; Steve seemed honest. "Where?"

"I thought we could figure it out together. Are you hungry? We could order in, or I have food in the fridge."

"I don't know," Bucky said honestly. He got nutrient drinks and IVs. He barely remembered food. "I could try."

"Wait. Have you not eaten since the helicarrier?"

"No."

"It's been four days."

"I know."

"Oh my god." Steve opened the fridge and pulled out a white tub labeled Dannon Plain Yogurt. There was a barn on it. He set it on the table with a spoon. "Eat this."

Bucky sat down and started eating. It was a pleasant taste: tangy, wet, not too sweet. Steve brought some fruits over from the fridge. He dropped some blue things--blueberries into the yogurt and washed the red berries. "What are those?" Bucky asked.

"Strawberries," Steve replied. He quartered them and put them in the tub. They were delicious. Bucky finished the entire thing in a few minutes. Steve was watching him, but he was used to being watched.

He remembered suddenly. "Your...I wanted to see."

"Oh, right." Steve took off his jacket and lifted his shirt. "See? It's healing nicely." He turned around to show Bucky the entrance wound, which was still stitched up but looked nearly whole.

Bucky touched it. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Bucky. You were…"

"I was scared." Because they tore his brain to pieces and filled it full of their lies but everything they said came with an implicit threat of worse pain, of things they swore they could do to him again that he couldn't remember but he would. And the fear that he was nothing if he failed his missions and he could never escape because he had nowhere to go because an escaped asset is a broken doll and belongs in the garbage.

Steve took his hand. "Are you still?"

Bucky stared at the dust motes illuminated by a sun beam just above the table and nodded tightly. They'd come back for him. Pierce was dead, but was everyone else? What if Steve realized he was a broken weapon and threw him away? What if Steve had been lying to him from the start?

Steve placed his other hand over Bucky's. "Can I help?"

Yes, but it would involve reading his mind, because Bucky was not going to say it out loud, because what if Steve decided he was right and the asset was worthless? He kept staring at the dust, his eyes going out of focus. He could feel Steve's thumbs gently stroking his hand, but would Steve ever even want to touch the other one? James Buchanan Barnes didn't have a metal arm. He wasn't broken. Bucky, or whatever he was, couldn't answer Steve.

Steve didn't make him. "Can I look at your shoulder? I think I got it pretty hard."

"I put it back," Bucky said, but he took off his jacket and shirt anyway. Steve examined the bruise on his shoulder and lightly touched it to check for bone placement. It was fine, and then he hit a tender spot and Bucky panicked and punched him, hard.

Steve reeled backward, his hand coming up to the cut on his cheek. Shit. Shit shit shit shit. He was broken, so broken, even a nice handler wasn't safe. "I'm sorry," Bucky gasped, backing away. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

Steve raised his hands, palms out. "It's fine. I'm fine. Did I hurt you?"

"I don't...I don't...Please don't hate me, I can be better, I'm not broken, I can still be…"

"Hey, it's okay. It's okay. You've been through a lot. I can handle it."

"Maybe I can, I can remove it, then I can't hit you, I--"

"Bucky. Stop. It's okay. It's really okay. I should've been more careful. I know this transition isn't going to be easy, but I'm ready to see it through. Okay?"

Bucky kept backing away, but Steve's face was open and kind, so he sat on the couch and tried to calm down without sinking into his nothing place where they couldn't see him, could only see his obedient shell, because Steve wasn't like that. He took a few shuddering breaths and squeezed his thighs hard enough to bruise and tried to talk himself down. Steve was good. Steve was kind. Steve was willing to die for him. Steve didn't want to hurt him and he might be a crazy asshole with no self-preservation. So they should understand each other.

Bucky didn't understand himself. He didn't know how long he was trying to make himself believe that Steve was giving leeway, but finally Steve said, "Hey, I'm going to order us some food. Do you know what you like?"

No? Of course not, what kind of a question? Bucky looked up. "I only remember nutrient drinks and IVs."

"Oh. Okay. I'll try to find something easy to eat, then. Maybe Mediterranean." He pulled out a laptop and started doing stuff on it. After a few minutes, he came to sit on the couch with Bucky. "Um, do you want to watch a movie or something? I was just thinking, we can take things as slow as you need, um, and you can relax and stuff."

Bucky stared at him. "What's a movie?"

"It's like a...like Snow White?"

"Uh…"

"Like a newsreel? Or TV."

"Oh, TV." Bucky knew about TV. He'd seen it on missions before.

"We could watch something nice. Or play cards? I don't know what I'm doing."

"What did we used to do?" Maybe he could get Barnes back if he went through the motions.

"Oh, uh. Hmm. I used to draw. You did too, but not as much. We'd take a walk, or go to Coney Island. Mostly we worked and looked after our apartment. There are a couple parks around here. Meridian Hill is pretty nice. Oh, you know what. You used to do a lot of writing, but you'd never show me. Journals, letters, I think a novel, but I wasn't allowed to look. You said once you finished the novel I could draw the illustrations. But you didn't finish. You enlisted. Or, no." Steve frowned. "You got drafted, but I only found that out...last year. You lied about that. I still don't know why."

Steve was upset with him? He didn't even know what Steve was talking about. "I...I'm sorry?"

"Oh, no. I didn't mean--I'm sure you had your reasons, and maybe someday you'll remember, I just…" Steve stopped. "I'm gonna put on a gardening show, those are nice." He picked up the remote and turned on a show, and then he gave Bucky the shirt he'd left on the table. "You can use my shower if you want. I mean, our shower. My place is yours."

Bucky put the shirt back on. He did not know how to shower, so he stayed and watched the man walk around the garden. The doorbell rang, and Steve went to answer it. He said, "Come on up," and a minute later, he opened the door and accepted a bag of food from a girl. "Thanks." He shut the door, picked up silverware from the kitchen, and returned to Bucky to open the bag. "I got a few things, but I think you might like this." He opened a container and gave it to Bucky. "It's just garlic and lemon grilled chicken on a bed of greens, I'm hoping it won't give you a stomachache."

He took it and tried to remember how to act like a person. He picked up a knife and fork and cut the chicken carefully. Steve was pretending not to watch him. Bucky ate the chicken. It was  _ amazing _ . Wow. It was extremely good. He tried not to eat too fast, but he was  _ so  _ hungry, now that he'd noticed. The man on the TV was talking about olive trees. He finished the chicken and greens and looked over at Steve. "What is that?"

"Pesto and cod. You want to try?"

Bucky regarded the food with suspicion. He definitely wanted to try it, but it wasn't his. "Yes," he said slowly.

Steve held it out. "Go ahead."

Bucky acquired a piece with his fork and ate it. Food was so damn good. Fucking HYDRA had kept this from him. "It's so good."

"You can have it."

"But it's yours."

Steve opened the other boxes. "I also have caprese salad and chicken alfredo. Eat as much as you want." He gave his fish to Bucky and started eating the pasta.

They mostly watched TV for the rest of the day, and Steve set Bucky up in his bed, opting to sleep on the couch. He wasn't used to sleeping normally, since it wasn't usual for him to do it. Typically they'd freeze him, bring him out for a mission, which could be several days, and put him back in cryo, which was his sleep time. He was exhausted and hadn't slept more than a couple hours at a time since they'd brought him out this time, but he couldn't sleep for hours until he finally went out into the living room with a pillow and slept on the floor next to Steve. It wasn't comfortable, but listening to Steve's breathing helped him drift off.


	3. Chapter 3

He woke up in the morning and he was alone. He checked the bedroom and bathroom and Steve wasn't there. He tried not to panic. Steve wouldn't abandon him. He wouldn't do that. He looked in the kitchen and found a note on the table.

_ Hey Bucky _

_ I ran out to the store. I'll be back by 9 to make breakfast. If you want food before I'm back you can eat anything in the fridge or the cabinets. _

_ Steve _

Bucky took a deep breath. Okay. That was okay. He checked the time. Steve would be back in ten minutes. Then the doorbell rang. Bucky didn't want to answer it, but it rang three more times, so he went over to figure out the button system. He pressed "intercom" and said, "Hi."

"Hi, Cap," a man's voice said. "I got something for you, buzz me in."

"Uh," Bucky answered. "Steve is busy." He didn't know who it was and he was afraid to tell them Steve wasn't there, because they might use that opportunity to abduct him, or lock him up. Oh god. He was an assassin. They might arrest him.

The guy didn't say anything more so Bucky started to walk back to the couch when someone knocked at the door. "Your neighbor let me in," the man called through the door. "Cleanup in the river found something of yours."

Bucky peered through the peephole. He didn't recognize the man at all. "Steve's busy," he repeated.

"Yeah, who are you?"

"Go away."

"I don't--oh, hey Steve. I brought you this."

"Hi, Clint," Steve's voice came through the door, and Bucky opened it a crack.

"Who you got locked in the tower, a pretty boy?"

"Yeah," Steve said. "A real nice one. He's okay," he said to Bucky, so Bucky opened the door further. Steve was carrying groceries, so Clint brought in...oh, the shield, and handed it to Bucky.

"You hit the jackpot on Grindr, huh," Clint said, smirking as he closed the door.

"This is Bucky," Steve said, pulling groceries out of the bags. "Bucky, this is Clint. He works with me, but he's safe."

"Oh. OH." Clint's eyes grew wide. "Oh,  _ you're _ the--oh." He looked sheepish. "You'd think I'd notice the arm. Welcome back?"

Bucky looked at Steve, who shrugged.

"I'm Natasha's partner, if that helps with context," Clint added.

Great. He'd shot Natasha. "Sorry."

"Oh, she's fine. Ish. She filled me in. I just thought you were still in the wind."

Bucky just stared at him. Was he supposed to handle other people right now? He didn't know what to say.

"Okay! I'm going to go. See you later. Text if you need me."

"Can I call?" Steve asked.

"Please don't, I'm hard of hearing, as I've said, probably, once, at least, maybe?"

Steve frowned. "I don't think I knew that."

"Yeah, my hearing aids are pretty good, but sometimes I get headaches, and phone calls suck. Anyway. Always available by text. I'll see you around."

"Thanks for the shield, Hawkeye," Steve said.

Clint saluted and winked, and then he left. Bucky watched him go, suspicious. Clint was a fighter. He was muscular in strange places. His upper back, on both sides. His fingers. "What does he do?" he asked Steve.

"Bow and arrow," Steve answered, cracking an egg into a frying pan. "Scrambled or fried?"

"I don't know."

"Fried, I think. Hey, you can sleep anywhere you want, but you can also wake me up if you need something. You don't have to sleep on the floor."

"I couldn't sleep," Bucky said, watching the egg turn white. "The silence was loud."

"Yeah," Steve said. "I know what you mean. And the bed's too soft, and…"

"I could sleep when I could hear you breathing."

"Oh. Well. We can, uh, change sleeping arrangements tonight. Whatever works for you. Sunny side up or over easy?"

"I don't know what that means."

"Uh, over easy is when I flip it once. I'll just...do that."

Steve was trying to give him choices. Bucky liked that, but he didn't know what the choices were. "You can keep asking," he offered, because while he wasn't at ease and couldn't be, he could try to believe that Steve wasn't going to be angry at him. "I won't know most things though."

"Okay. I can do that." Steve gave him a smile. He slid the eggs onto a plate and put a bagel in the toaster. "All yours. I'm gonna fry some for me."

They ate breakfast and Steve suggested taking a walk. But...no. Bucky didn't want to take a walk. He didn't want to do anything. He didn't want to leave the apartment because it was safe. Yesterday was different, and now...now he was...he was...he couldn't breathe, couldn't think, he tried to find his body, don't lash out, don't fight, don't do anything, anything you do they'll do worse to you, just let it come, you'll get to go in cryo soon, it'll be over soon, don't fight, don't fight, don't fight.

He didn't want his body back. It wasn't his anyway. Maybe he would die. He didn't want to die. He wasn't allowed to want anything.

"Bucky? Can you hear me?"

He could. He couldn't respond. Bucky? Bucky. He was Bucky.

"It's okay, just breathe. You're safe. No one can hurt you. I'm right here."

He found his body again. His face was covered in tears. He was curled up on the floor, shivering. He wasn't supposed to fight but he reached out and his hand was enveloped by two warm, strong hands that held it until he could speak again. "I can't," he sobbed. He didn't even know what he was saying it about. He was broken.

"You're okay," Steve said gently. "We can stay right in here."

"Please," Bucky begged. "Don't...please don't throw me out, I can be better, I can be functioning, I can, I can, please…"

"Hey." Steve lay down on the floor beside him so he could look into his eyes. "Never. I will  _ never _ abandon you. I'm here for you. Forever. No matter what. You don't have to be better right now, okay? What you've been through, I can't even imagine. It's gonna take some time to adjust to being here. I know it's going to be hard. I'm going to be right beside you every step of the way." He rubbed Bucky's hand.

Bucky took a few deep breaths and he wasn't okay at all, but Steve helped him up and they sat on the couch.

"I didn't mean to upset you," Steve said. "I'm sorry."

That was ridiculous. Bucky was weak and messy. Steve was fine. Hydra hurt him, not Steve. He shook his head. "Tell me about him."

"Who?"

"Bucky. Me."

"Oh. Well, you liked science. Engineering and stuff. You wanted to go to school for it, but the war happened. You were the most loyal friend in the world. You watched my back when you didn't have to. We cared about each other. You were a great sniper, but...I think you didn't want to fight, and you would have gone home but for me. Sometimes I think I should have pushed you, but you wouldn't have done it. We were pretty well joined at the hip.

"I used to be pretty small. Couldn't throw a punch, though God knows you tried to teach me. I still picked fights I couldn't win all the time, and you'd pull me out, throw the punches I couldn't.

"I drew you a lot. You were the most convenient model, 'cause we lived together."

"You can draw me now."

"Yeah," Steve said. "Yeah, I'd like that."

"Even if I'm…" Bucky held up his metal arm. "Broken."

"You're not," Steve said firmly. "And it's beautiful."

Bucky stood up and looked out the window. People were living their lives out there. Two women were walking a tiny dog--wait, no. A cat. One stopped the other and kissed her, and then they kept going. It made him happy and he didn't know why. He couldn't be part of that. He was meant to be kept away from other people until they needed to be killed. He couldn't go out there.

In here was okay. In here had food and blankets and Steve. Steve was good. Steve kept looking at him, but he didn't mind. Steve looked at Bucky like he was something good, not a tool, not a monster, not a brainless weapon.

He wanted to live up to that. "I want him back," he said to Steve.

"You'll get there."

Steve was still watching him, but it felt warm when Steve did it. Not like when the technicians and handlers did. However, whenever he looked back, Steve would quickly change his expression. "What do you want?" Bucky asked. "You keep pretending to have a different face."

"I don't--it's nothing."

"What is it you want?"

"Uh…" Steve scrunched his face. "It doesn't matter."

Bucky kept staring at him. He would break.

He did. "I just...um, I want to hug you. But you don't--I--" Steve shook his head.

That didn't sound bad. Bucky liked when Steve held his hand. Even...even when they'd been fighting, dying, there was something Bucky liked and wanted more of in the touch, in the grappling, in… "Okay," he said to Steve, and he went over to him.

"Really," Steve said, "it's fine, and I…"

Bucky waited. Not for long, though. Steve got up and tentatively stretched his arms around Bucky. He tensed. He couldn't help it. But he forced himself to bring his arms around Steve and tried to relax. After a few seconds, Steve tried to let go, but Bucky got to decide things now, and he wanted to keep doing this, so he refused to release Steve. Steve followed his lead.

Steve was warm. Steve was safe. Steve felt good and right, and Bucky rested his cheek on Steve's shoulder and closed his eyes. Steve's heartbeat was steady and comforting. Bucky didn't know how long they stood there in each other's arms, but after a while, Steve's phone rang, so Bucky let him go.

"Hi, hey Sam," Steve said. His voice was shaky and his eyes were watering. He was crying?

"Hey," Sam said. Bucky could hear. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm great. What's up?"

"Uh, just checking in. We should probably get started searching before Barnes skips town. Or worse."

"Oh." Steve glanced over at Bucky. "No, um. He came home."

"Well, okay. That was easy. When were you planning to tell me?"

"Sorry, I meant to call you, I got distracted."

"You guys good? Something vaguely resembling good?"

"Yeah. We're good."

"All right, well. Call me if you need anything. I'll poke around and see if I can dig up any good and discreet therapists."

"That would be great, eventually. Thanks."

"Can I visit?" Sam asked.

"I don't know, I hope so. We'll talk about it, and I'll let you know."

"All right. See you around, then."

Steve hung up and put down the phone. "That was Sam. The man with the wings."

"Is he mad at me?" Bucky asked.

"No, of course not," Steve reassured him. "He understands."

Maybe, but Bucky had pushed him off of a helicarrier to almost certain death. "He didn't know me before, right?"

"No. Everyone who knew you before is really old. Me and you are out of time. I reconnected with Peggy, you might remember her?"

"No." Bucky looked at the TV. "We could watch that gardening show."

"Sure, yeah." Steve turned on the TV and Bucky managed to get Steve's arm around him as they watched it.

Steve knew who Bucky was even if Bucky didn't, and that was enough for now.

At night they concluded that if they both slept in the bed, they'd be able to sleep better, though Steve was weird about it. "I don't know if we should do that," he said, but he couldn't come up with a better option, so he gave in.

He dreamed of falling. He dreamed of waking to find his arm was gone, of screaming, "He'll come for me," over and over, and no one came. He dreamed of instruments digging into his shoulder, his nerves, of passing out from the pain and waking again to find a metal arm where there was nothing before, of a weaselly man telling him he was a weapon and not a person, and a Russian man saying, "He is ours, Zola, not yours," and the weasel man saying, "For now, perhaps," of being tied down and the chair, the chair, no, not again, please not again.

He woke up screaming.

"You were supposed to come for me," he said, later, when he remembered where he was and he was in Steve's arms and Steve was stroking his back.

"I know, Bucky, I'm so sorry. I thought you were dead, but I should have tried."

Bucky didn't want apologies, he just wanted to make sense of the mess floating around in his head. "The short man," he said. "The one who tortured me the most. Is he dead?"

"Yeah. He's dead. He died a long time ago."

"But they're not all dead."

"No."

Bucky huffed. "I'll take care of it. Later."

"I'll help," Steve said. "I...just, whatever you gotta do, remember you're not alone."

"I know, but. You're the good one, I'm already…"

"Bucky," Steve said, pained.

"Already tainted."

"No. No,  _ no _ . It's not like that. And taking out Nazis isn't exactly 'bad'."

"I don't know all the people I've killed."

"Wasn't you, Buck," Steve murmured. "You didn't have a choice. You don't even remember."

Yeah. Easy for Steve to believe. He didn't do it. Whatever it was. "Do you know? Do you know their names?"

"Uh. Not exactly. I know a few people that were supposedly you, but I don't know for sure that it's true."

"Who?"

"It won't make you feel better."

"Who, Steve?"

Steve sighed. "I think, President Kennedy."

"Was he good?"

"Maybe. He was a President. So. Maybe."

"And?"

"Please don't make me do this now. I don't even know for sure."

Right. Steve was tired and a hurting person too. "Did we sleep much?" Bucky asked instead.

"Five hours," Steve said, yawning. "Good enough for me."

But it wasn't normal, and if Bucky was ever going to be Bucky again, he needed to fake normal. "No. Turn off the light."

Steve hummed agreement and turned it off. Bucky could sleep like this, lying on Steve's chest. That would do. He half didn't want to sleep, but maybe he would get some more memories back. Even if they were hell ones. The sooner he got through the nightmares, the sooner he would be Bucky Barnes again.

He did not sleep. He wasn't sure if Steve did either. The sun came up and they looked at each other and got up.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so it's not exactly a slow burn

Things drifted back to him. Thoughts. Memories. Pain. Steve called the painful memories "trauma" and said he had them too. Most of what he remembered felt like a dream, like someone else's memories he was stealing, but one time he looked at Steve, and Bucky, the old Bucky took over for a moment, and he was overcome with such love he couldn't think, couldn't move.

By the next week, Steve had annoyed a museum curator but repatriated Bucky's diaries and letters. The coat might be a longer fight. "I never read them," he said as he handed them over. "I don't know what you'll find. You don't have to read them if it's hard."

"I'll read them. I'm going to find him. He came back, but only for a minute. I can find him for good."

"Oh. Okay."

Bucky sat on the couch and started reading. It hurt. It hurt _ a lot _. As he read things, he could feel them trying to break through. He couldn't read too much at a time.

_ I'm sick of lying, i fucking hate the world. I'm taking out dames and never going home with them. They think i'm a gentleman. I can't feel anything for them. Friendship, i think. They don't want that. Or they do and i'm a g-ddamn coward. I. _

_ Fuck. _

_ I gotta write it down _

_ because it's real. _

_ I'm a fuckin fairy. I only want to be with men. I only want one, but there are others i'd fuck, if i can't have him. _

_ please g-d let me have him please please please i don't care about anything else, anything i gotta do, i just want him to love me, i don't care if it's fucked up, i can't help it, i love him more than anything in this fuckin world and it scares me so bad, i feel like i'll lose him young and i'll be alone and i'll want to die. But g-d, i don't care. If i can just have him for as long as i've got him, that's gonna have to be enough. I love him. _

There were passages that were scribbled with a lot of feeling, just messy desperate writing about Steve. Even passages that were just about work or getting drafted were about Steve, but Bucky was afraid to tell the real Steve, like he'd be leaking someone else's secret if he told him how sexual, romantic, desperate, hopeless, loving they were. Steve had never read them, and probably Bucky never meant for him to.

Maybe eventually he'd find an entry where he told Steve he loved him, and Steve loved him back, or not. Steve did love him, just maybe not like that. It wasn't easy reading through them, and he wanted to know. But his head hurt, so he finished the first book and closed it.

"You doing all right?" Steve asked as Bucky came into the kitchen to forage.

"My head hurts." Bucky rubbed his temple. "Wonder what happens in the end."

"You come home," Steve said.

"No, I meant…" Bucky paused. There were four more books to get through, and then the letters. There was no other Bucky to betray, only him. He wanted to know. "You could read it."

"Are you sure?"

Good question. He was fine with it, but maybe Steve would be uncomfortable reading some of the stuff. He should warn him. "Yes, but...he...I wrote about you a lot."

"Well, we lived together, so we were pretty much heavily in each other's lives."

"Did we…" Bucky looked at the ceiling. "Did we fuck?"

Steve dropped his fork. "Uh, no, well, no, not--no. Why, did...did the…"

"He was--_ I _ was in love with you. Some of the writing is...what?"

Steve shook his head, looking sick. "You sure it wasn't just--we were pretty close but--"

Bucky read a passage. "'Steve fuckin drives me crazy, sometimes I want him so bad I feel like I'm dying I just want him to touch me I want him to kiss me.'" Bucky shut the book. "Guess I got some from him."

"Some _ what _?"

"Just, I like being near you. What the hell is wrong with that?" Bucky demanded, because he had to defend old Bucky, and because Steve was making faces like he was horrified.

"Nothing," Steve said. "Nothing, I just wish I'd known then."

"So he never told you. I never told you."

"No, I...no."

"I thought I would, by the end. Do you love me too?"

"Oh, god," Steve said, staring at the floor. "Yes, always."

"Then it ends good, I guess." If he could get Bucky back. "Someday." He took Steve's hands. "I'll write that too."

"Buck, you don't have to feel the same as you used to."

"I don't know how I feel," Bucky said honestly. "But I have to keep going." He pressed his forehead to Steve's. "I just have to keep going. I'll get him back for us."

"I want you to do what's best for you," Steve said, but he sounded like his heart was breaking.

"He deserved this," Bucky said. "I'll figure it out."

"Oh, Buck," Steve sighed. "You don't owe me or anyone anything."

"I need it," Bucky said. "If I can't find him--if I can't find me, they win, and they can't fucking win. They don't get to win."

"They won't. They w--" A loud knock on the door interrupted Steve. "Uh…" He looked toward the door. "Stay here." He released Bucky's hands and went to crack open the door. "Yes? Kate?"

The person outside the door said, "It's Sharon. Can I come in?"

Steve looked at Bucky. Bucky went to the bedroom and listened as Sharon and Steve talked in the kitchen. "I know you're mad at me," she said, "but I'm here as a friend. If he's here, you need to take him and get somewhere safe."

"Who's after him?" Steve asked without even trying to lie, although technically he hadn't said Bucky was there. "Hydra?"

"The feds. Natasha filled me in, a little. Some of his info is in the filedump, but the facts the FBI cares about are that he's committed multiple assassinations. I believe it's not his fault, but that's a hard sell to the feds. Better to lie low for now until more Hydra are brought in and we can prove he didn't have agency."

Steve was quiet, and then he said. "How much time before a SWAT team is busting down the door, you think?"

"A day? Two days? A week? I don't know. Soon." Sharon sighed. "I'm sorry I didn't get to know you better. I just want to help you out. I don't want another Red Scare."

"Thank you."

"Stay safe. Stay quiet. Don't contact me directly. Natasha can talk to me securely if necessary." The door shut, so Bucky came out.

"Are we leaving?"

Steve nodded. "We need to pack." He called Natasha. "I need a car."

"I'll be there at nine."

"Thank you." He hung up. "Can't use my bike."

"I want my coat," Bucky grumbled.

"As soon as we can," Steve agreed, pulling a few suitcases and bags out of the closet. "Pack anything you want." They packed clothes, toiletries, food, books, and the few precious things they had.

"Where are we going?" Bucky asked.

"I don't know. Is there anywhere you want to go?"

"No. I don't know. A tropical island somewhere."

"We might have to wait on that," Steve said, "but someday, I promise."

"I'm just tired of being cold," Bucky said, calling on vague memories of Siberia and closer memories of the cryo-pod.

"Yeah," Steve said. "Me too. We can find somewhere with a fireplace."

They finished packing up and waited for Natasha to arrive. Bucky was bored so when Steve sat on the couch, he sat on his lap. Steve put his arms around Bucky and rested his head against his shoulder. "I was looking at maps," Bucky said.

"Oh?"

"We could go to Florida. There's beaches and it's warm. And birds."

"If we can, we will."

Bucky sighed. "I don't want to take you from your home."

"You aren't," Steve said immediately. "This is just a place."

Oh. Steve had no home. That was supposed to be sad, but Bucky didn't have a home either, just Steve. "I don't want to be locked up again."

"That's why we have to go, Buck."

"How long do we have to wait?" Bucky asked. "I'm gonna go steal my coat."

"Please don't. I just got you back."

"Hm. Fine."

"Are you going to be okay? You kind of flipped out last time I suggested going outside."

Bucky shrugged. Maybe. Steve would handle it if he wasn't. The thought wasn't sending him into a panic, so that was something.

Natasha arrived after sunset and helped them pack the car. It wasn't too hard. There was a set path back and forth between the car and the apartment for now.

"I moved some money around for you," she said. "You can use this card without it being tracked." She also handed Steve a pair of plastic-framed glasses. "Wear these. You still look like Captain America."

"Thanks, Nat."

"Yeah. Lie _ low _. Seriously. If you want to get to Canada, I can get James a fake passport in a day."

Canada? Fuck that. "I want to go to Florida," Bucky said.

"Okay. Stay in touch. These are secure. Don't call me from anything else. They're programmed with each other's numbers, mine, and Hawkeye's." She gave him two phones. "By the way, nice to see you're all right, James."

"I'm not," Bucky said. "I'm trying."

"That's all any of us can do," she said, and grimaced as she picked up a bag.

Bucky took it from her. "I...did I…" He pointed at her shoulder, feeling like he recognized something.

"Did you shoot me? Yes. Twice. I survived the first one, I'll get over this one too."

"I don't remember."

"I know," she said lightly. "Try not to do it again."

She was weird. Steve touched his shoulder. "Ready?"

Bucky followed Steve to the car. Steve thanked Nat again and said goodbye, and then they pulled out of the parking garage.

He didn't panic. The car was safe, contained. Steve drove south. "I'm planning to drive through the night, but if you need to stop and sleep, let me know."

"I'm okay," Bucky said, looking at the river as they crossed it.

They stopped only at gas stations and rest areas, where Steve slept for an hour at a time while Bucky kept watch, since he could sleep while they drove. Eventually they ended up stopping in southern Florida and finding a vacation cottage efficiency to stay in for a few days while they looked for a more permanent place. Steve locked the door and fell into the bed almost the moment they got inside. Bucky sat on the bed next to him and gazed at the sleeping man for ages. He was beautiful. Steve was an angel, and everything Bucky had clawed back was filling in his understanding of the love that coursed through his veins when he saw Steve. He wanted to touch his lovely face, kiss it, but Steve trusting him enough to sleep with him there was enough.

He loved him.

He took off his shoes and pants and lay down by Steve, easing Steve's arm around him. Steve grunted and snuggled up to him.

They'd slapped him around, made him think he was drowning, cut him in places he could heal just to watch him hurt, cut into him, attached wires to his nerves, shoved things in his mouth when he screamed, kept cutting until everything went black. They'd filled his head with lies and stolen his mind, stolen his life, his identity. Made him feel powerless when he could have killed any of them without breaking a sweat. Forced him to try to kill his beloved, and when he choked, when the chair hadn't completely stolen Steve from him, they ripped away his memory again and sent him to die.

And now he was here and Steve was holding him and he was safe, and they could never touch him again, and he loved him. Steve would never punish him for failing or for wanting. Steve loved him.

He was safe, and he fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

He woke up to hear the shower running. Hmm. Shower. He needed to do that. He'd been avoiding bathing since escaping Hydra. They touched him carelessly, roughly, cleaning him like a machine, not allowing him to clean himself. Cold water. Steve was kindly not bothering him, but he probably reeked. He needed to figure out showers.

Steve came out of the bathroom wearing just a towel. Bucky liked it and wished he were able to like it more. "Hey, you're awake."

"I need to shower," Bucky said very sadly.

"Oh, yeah. If you wait ten minutes the water might stay hot longer."

Bucky sighed and glared at the floor. "I don't remember how to do it all."

"I'll help," Steve said easily.

"I smell bad, don't I."

Steve laughed. "Yeah, pretty awful. I didn't want to say anything."

"You slept next to me for ten days."

Steve grinned. "Worth it." He put a hand on Bucky's shoulder. "You want to go get breakfast? We could go to a cafe or just the grocery store. Or I can, and I'll be back in a bit."

"No, I'll go," Bucky said before he could stop himself. He had to try. He stood up. "How do I…" He gestured to the bathroom.

"Oh." Steve turned on the shower. "Left for hotter, right for cooler." He pointed to various soaps. "For your body, use this washcloth. Clean your armpits. Or...armpit… Use that one to clean your hair, wash it out, and then rub that one in your hair, not into your scalp, let it sit for a few minutes, then rinse it out. That one is for your face. And that's it."

Bucky nodded. "Okay. I'll try."

"You can call me if you need me."

"I'm fine," Bucky said, taking off his shirt. Steve backed out and shut the door. He finished taking off his clothes and tested the water. It wasn't too cold, so he got under it. Left for hotter. Bucky slowly turned the knob until the water was wonderfully hot against his skin and just stood under it for a while. Grayish water ran off his legs. Gross. Oh, right. He was there for a reason. He picked up the shampoo and worked it into his hair, which was very greasy. He used more.

The stuff worked, and he did the rest of the stuff Steve suggested, but the water was warm and he ended up standing under it for a while longer until he remembered he was hungry, and got out. He went out to the main room with a towel around his waist, dripping. Since his escape, his chest hair had started growing back in. Strange.

Steve had the suitcase open, but let Bucky choose his own clothes. "Maybe dry off your hair," Steve suggested.

"Oh." Bucky took off the towel to dry his hair with it, at which point it occurred to him that Steve might be less comfortable around him naked. Or...something…

But Steve didn't seem bothered; he just handed Bucky deodorant and fixed his own hair while Bucky dressed. "How about you brush your hair?"

"Oh." Bucky took the hairbrush from Steve and tried to work out the knots. It took for fucking ever, but finally he got it untangled. "You shaved," he said, realizing Steve had gotten rid of his stubble from the past week.

"Oh. Yeah. You want to? I have a couple extra razors."

Ugh. More work. "No. Maybe later."

"Okay. You still want to come?"

Bucky nodded. James Barnes would have. Steve brushed a lock of hair out of his face and for just a few seconds he was Bucky Barnes again, full of desperate desire and affection so strong he thought he would die from it, feeling Steve's fingers on his face. The security of having a best friend. The fear of losing him.

But...he was that person, he felt those things. He wasn't just remembering the old Bucky. He felt that way too.

He was a person.

He took Steve's hand, and they went outside.

Small green lizards scurried along the fence as they passed, and an alligator ambled into the lake across the lawn. Large flowers were starting to bloom. A woman came out of the cottage two doors down from theirs but only gave them a brief nod as she passed. They walked down the street to a small coffee shop, and Steve ended up ordering for them after Bucky wasn't sure what to get and brought it back to their table in the corner of the cafe.

"So, how's Florida?" Steve asked.

"I like the lizards," Bucky said, thinking of how very green they were. "And the heat."

"Me too," Steve agreed. "Had about enough of cold to last me another seventy years."

"Could you have gotten out of the plane?" Bucky asked. He'd read about the _ Valkyrie _ going down in the museum, and Steve had told him the rest, mostly.

Steve looked away. "No, I...no."

"Why didn't you jump?"

"I just--I couldn't." Steve looked faintly ill.

"Why?"

"Because I…" He trailed off.

Bucky touched his hand. "I don't want to hurt you, I just don't understand."

"Can we just be happy we made it here together? That we're here for each other now?"

"Okay," Bucky said slowly. "I guess so."

Steve finished his breakfast and didn't say anything else, but he looked queasy. They walked down to the grocery store on the corner after breakfast to stock up. Steve started putting things in a cart, and Bucky regarded the produce as Steve disappeared behind the first aisle. Bucky found the strawberries and examined them, keeping an eye on other shoppers.

Unfortunately, one tried to talk to him. "If you go down the street like half a block, there's a guy selling fresh strawberries from his farm," she said.

Bucky stared at her and tried to think of what to say. His voice didn't work. His brain was stuck. Steve was Steve, and he'd been prepared for Natasha, but now he was alone, and some strange girl was trying to talk to him, and what if they were looking for him and she was trying to get him to drop his guard because she worked for them, and she was talking again, and…

"Are you okay? I didn't mean to startle you. Is something wrong? Do you need help?"

It was taking all of his will not to hit her or bolt. He was seriously broken, couldn't even be in public, didn't belong, didn't… and then Steve was there, gripping his shoulders. "You okay?"

He realized he was shaking and gasping, and Steve pulled him into his arms so he could safely recover without the world looking at his face, which he tucked into Steve's shoulder as he caught his breath.

"It's okay," he heard Steve say. "He's a vet, he's got complex PTSD."

"I'm sorry," the girl said, "I didn't mean to, to trigger him, or…"

"It's okay, it's not your fault." Steve rubbed Bucky's back and murmured, "Take your time, I'm here."

"Is he gonna be okay?"

"Yeah, we're good, just give us a little space, please."

The world wasn't trying to hurt him and Steve was there to shield him from it if it did. "Okay," he said a few minutes later, or an hour later, he didn't know. "I'm okay." He got out of Steve's embrace and held onto his hand. "I want the strawberries from the farm."

"Hmm?"

"She said there was a stand selling better strawberries down the block."

"Oh. Sure, let's go, after we finish buying this. Do you want anything else? Bagels?"

"Sure," Bucky said, because he'd been eating a lot of those in DC.

Steve snagged a couple bags and a garlic loaf from the bakery section and went to check out. "I need my hand," he said gently as he pulled out his wallet. Bucky released his hand but stayed close. "Hey," Steve said to the cashier. "Someone mentioned there was a fruit stand nearby, could you point me in that direction?"

"Oh," the cashier said, "Roy Elrod's place, yeah, it's half a block that way." She pointed.

"Thanks." Steve handed Bucky one of the bags--he'd bought reusable ones because the cashier had said something about saving the planet--and they walked out into the sunlight. The stand was visible once they passed the parking lot by the grocery store, and it appeared to have more than strawberries. The traffic was low, so they crossed the street to find the stand had strawberries, blueberries, little watermelons, tomatoes, red potatoes and some things Bucky didn't recognize.

"Morning, boys," the man at the stand said. "What can I load you up with today?"

"Oh, I don't know. We were after the strawberries, but you've got a lot of good stuff. What is that?" he asked, pointing at a weird spiky pink thing.

"Dragonfruit," Roy said cheerfully. "My niece grows it. You boys new in town?"

"Just passing through, I think," Steve answered.

While he paid for the strawberries and a few other things, Bucky spotted a newspaper on the counter, which he would have ignored, but a horribly familiar face was on the front. He was dead, he was dead and he couldn't hurt Bucky anymore, but his face was right there. He wasn't going to freeze. "Steve," he said.

Steve looked over and saw the paper. "You're okay," he said, putting a hand on Bucky's shoulder. "Okay?"

He wasn't, but he nodded.

Roy was oblivious. "News is buckwild these days. They're doing some kinda profile on a dead traitor."

"A Nazi, even," Steve said sourly. "I would hope it's an exposé, though."

Bucky wanted to tell Steve to take him home, but he couldn't speak.

"Hey," Roy said. "I've seen you before." He squinted at Bucky.

"I don't think so," Steve cut in, piling the fruit in their shopping bags.

"No, I have, it's--oh, damn, I know! You were in _ Hot Tub Time Machine _! Right? You played the annoying ski patrol guy, right?"

That entire pile of words made no sense. "What?" Bucky said, bewildered enough to speak.

"He's not an actor," Steve said. "Got the face for it, though," he added, which Bucky was thinking might be flirting.

That felt good, but seeing Pierce's fucking face didn't. They were supposed to be staying quiet, so he didn't say anything about Pierce.

"I swear you look just like that guy," Roy insisted. "Well, maybe not as skinny."

"You know, they say everyone has seven doppelgangers," Steve said. "You ready to go?"

Bucky nodded, swallowing. Steve took his hand.

"You boys sticking around?"

"Not sure yet," Steve said.

"Hmm, well, I don't understand it, but then I don't reckon it's any of my business, but some folks around might not feel the same way. Anyhow, you two look big enough to handle it, so don't mind me."

"It?" Steve asked. "Oh." He shrugged. "We've been in worse places."

What the hell were they talking about? Bucky let Steve pull him away. "What was that about?" he asked as they walked down the sidewalk to the cottage.

"He thought we were a couple."

Weren't they? "I thought we were too."

"Oh," Steve said. "I...yeah, I guess so, then. I thought we'd just give you time."

"But you aren't with anyone else," Bucky said.

"Well, no." Steve opened the door. "But I know you better than you know me, so it's, you know. Not exactly balanced."

"I know you," Bucky said, setting the bags on the table. "I've been reading." It wasn't fucking fair. Hydra had ripped his brain to shreds and now they got to take away the one thing real Bucky wanted the most. Bucky-now had to make sure he got it. "You can't be with anyone else," he ordered.

"All right," Steve agreed. "But let's take it real slow. And if…" His jaw clenched, but he continued. "If, as you get better, you find this isn't what you want, uh, don't pretend it is for my sake."

Ridiculous. Old Bucky wanted Steve, so when now Bucky got him back, he would want Steve more. He already did anyway. Steve was nice and warm and holding his hand was pleasant. "That won't happen."

"But just...just know, I'm here for you, and I want you to do what's best for you."

Hmm. Would Steve want to have sex now that they were A Couple? That couldn't be too bad, could it? He imagined Steve's hands on him, and that was kind of nice but also a little...too much, maybe.

Real slow, Steve had said. That was good.

"Hey," Steve said. "You all right? I'm sorry you had to see his face."

"Doesn't matter, he's dead," Bucky lied. It did matter and while he believed Steve, he would feel better if he could see Pierce's body and crush his skull.

"Well," Steve said, "thanks for coming out with me."

"It wasn't good."

"But you did it, and it'll get easier."

"Maybe," Bucky said. He went and got the second diary and sat on the couch to read it while Steve put away the groceries.

_ I can't fuckin believe my diary didn't get destroyed or stolen or something, the...Z just left it on his desk. _

_ I don't want to write about this. _

_ I gotta. _

_ My unit got captured. Mighta been my fault. I don't know. They had weapons i've never seen in my life. Had to surrender. They took us to a prison camp, a weapons factory. Sometimes they'd take one of us away and we never saw em again. I got real sick. Pneumonia. Couldn't work much, but these fellas, some from my unit and some not, they had my back, looked after me, but then I got taken anyway. They tried. _

_ Idon't knowwhathedidtome _

_ What did he do to me _

_ It burned like fuckin fire _

_ Hurt so bad i wanted to die. They didn't even want to know anything but i kept repeating my numbers like they taught us. Fuck the army. FUCK THE STATES AND THEIR FUCKING FASCIST BULLSHIT LIKE THEY'RE GODDAMN BETTER THAN GERMANY AND ITALY LIKE THEY DON'T HATE US TOO LIKE THEY WOULDA COME IN LIKE THE HEROES THEY THINK THEY ARE IF PEARL HARBOR HADN'T HAPPENED. I thought for sure i was dead. Hell if i know how long i was there, in and out of sleep and consciousness, while Z injected me with some hellish poison and i wanted to die and i don't know if i said i was sorry to stevie out loud, i sure said it in my head. _

_ Then STEVE COMES TO GET ME. _

_ He's fuckin six feet tall or more, built like a goddamn brick shithouse, like some ideal that ain't supposed to exist, and i'm mad? I'm mad. Which is stupid. I'm happy he's not sick and in pain and struggling to breathe half the time. But it's like some scientist thinks he can make him better by turning him into a huge muscular fella like he wasn't already fuckin perfect. _

_ He came to get me, I thought I was dreaming. Cause i had dreamed it, the man I love coming to save me, get me out of there, taking me home and taking care of me, kissing my feverish forehead and feeding me soup and i know how stupid it is but it's near about the only thing that got me through the torture. I gotta get home to him. Then he shows up in the fuckin flesh, snaps the leather straps holding me down, tells me some german scientist--and i ain't mad about that part, for all i know he was one of us--injected him full of chemicals and howard goddamn stark used a machine to activate them and now he looks like this and yeah it's permanent, "So far." I can barely walk and he holds me up like i don't weigh a thing, i have the presence of mind to tell him to get my diary cause i can see it and right now I don't even care if he opens it. _

_ The damn nazis are blowing up the place so me and Stevie have to find a way out, and we run into the boss himself, Johann Schmidt, but that can't be his real name, John Smith, can it? Steve and him are having a staredown but I can barely keep it together, cause Z is next to him, and he's looking at me like i'm a ghost. I wasn't supposed to survive. Then he looks at me like I'm a piece of fuckin meat. _

_ What did he DO to me? _

_ Steve punches schmidt and schmidt PULLS OFF HIS FACE. fuck fuck fuck. I ask steve to make sure he doesn't have one of those, but...Z's the one who's been fucking with me and he's schmidt's scientist _

_ I can't stop touching my face. What if it falls off like that. I don't want to look like that. I don't want to be that thing i'm not a monster i'm not i'm not please let me keep my face if there's any justice in the world they HATE me i can't be one of them i can't be i can't be ain't it enough i had to hear shitforbrains kids asking if i had horns in school, i'm afraid to tell Steve how scared I am. _

_ We got out. Steve jumps twenty-some feet across an exploding factory, makes it no problem, lands right the fuck on me, i ain't complaining if he's alive but it knocked the wind outta me, so he picks me up bridal style and runs down the stairs and gets us outside. Yeah, i'll take it. He won't ever carry me over the threshold but i can live with it if I take what i can get. _

_ I want to go home. It's too much. I want to go home. _

"What does this mean?" Bucky asked, pointing at a passage.

"Uh, antisemitism," Steve answered.

"Oh." Right. Right, okay. He remembered that now. Yeah, that was coming back.

_ I can't go home. I gotta stay here with Steve. Everyone else looks at him and thinks he's something special, something magical. Some kinda icon. But I know him, he's real. He's Steve. Doesn't matter what he looks like. He's better than the rest of them, yes, but he always was. _

"I wanted to go home," he said to himself. "I remember that."

Steve leaned over him. "I'm gonna take a walk and call Sam. Nat texted me a secure number for him."

"Okay," Bucky said, trying to think. "I was...is there a place here? On the island?"

"A place for what?"

"For me...I don't remember. I...we were talking about it, I think."

"Oh!" Steve said, understanding better than Bucky. "I'll find out where the nearest temples are, yeah."

"Yeah." That was right, but he needed to see things to help him remember.

_ I stopped practicing years ago but please get us both home and i will go to temple and do community service and argue with rabbis about everything. I can't marry a nice Jewish girl but that'd be for my mom anyway, you don't care. I am what i am. _

_ I killed five men. _

_ Nazis, right. Or fash italians. But i killed them. They were people and now they're dead. It scares the hell out of me how good i am at killing. I don't want to be. I can see three of their faces. The others were Hydra and wore those stupid helmets so you can't see their face. Slug goes through it, though. Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye. _

_ Goodbye Bucky. Now go kill more. _

Tears were streaming down his face as he put down the diary. He wanted to comfort Bucky but he _ was _ Bucky and it hurt so much to know the ending, to know that he'd lost his identity more than old Bucky could have imagined and killed more too. Steve came back in and went to him with concern. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"I wanted to go home," Bucky said. A tear trickled down from the inside corner of his eye to his nose. "I didn't want to kill anyone." He took a deep breath. "It's not fair."

"No, it's not," Steve agreed. "None of it's fair. I should've pushed you to go home."

"He--I wouldn't have gone. Too in love with you."

Steve took his hand. "I don't think there's anything I can say."

"I'm just sad for him," Bucky sighed. "He didn't deserve this."

"You didn't," Steve said. "I'm sorry."

"How can you--" Bucky stopped. How could Steve love the man he'd lost and the monster wearing his face too? He wasn't a sad human anymore, he was a fucking war criminal. A war crime, too. "I want to be him, but...are you?"

"Yes," Steve said. "I'm still me. I'm different, but I'm me. So are you." He gently brushed the tears from Bucky's face. "A wise woman told me we can't go back. We can only go forward. I--believe me, I have trouble but I--" He closed his eyes. "I don't know what you're going through, but you are Bucky, and I love you, no matter what."

"But _ how _?" Bucky sniffled.

Steve pulled him into his arms. "I don't know how to put it into words." But his strong embrace helped, and Bucky stayed wrapped in his arms until the agony subsided.

"Did you talk with Sam?" Bucky asked later, lying with his head in Steve's lap as Steve played with his hair.

"Yeah, just updated him, not more than he needs to know in case they call him in. I didn't want him to worry."

"What if they lock me up?"

"I won't let that happen. I'm talking with Nat about that. It's not your fault."

He said it so earnestly that, just for now, Bucky believed him.


	6. Chapter 6

The next Saturday, they ventured to the island temple, but Bucky couldn't stay in there for long and they ended up going home. "We can try again next week," Steve said.

Three days after that, Bucky wanted a book to write in, so Steve found a bookstore. He tried to find journals, but Bucky sat down by a bookcase and blinked at the store cat until it came and sat in his lap. "Steve, we need a cat," he said as he petted the purring black murder machine.

"We might need a more permanent place, then."

"You do that. I'm going to get a cat." He sat with the bookstore cat until it yawned and left to go drink water. Steve was collecting art supplies when Bucky found him.

"I found the journals," he said, pointing to a shelf with books. Bucky started looking through them.

"Saw you got along with Zoe," a man said behind them. "She's a rescue. Doesn't like most people."

"I just let her make her own choices," Bucky said pointedly. He pulled a journal off the shelf. It was leatherbound, with a metal latch and a gryphon embossed on the front. "I want this one."

"Okay," Steve agreed. "You can get more if you want."

Yeah, maybe. Or they could come back. That sounded like work, so Bucky picked up three more, a glittery one that said "Paris," one with a ginkgo leaf pattern, and a spiral bound one that said "I like my men tall, dark and ** _FICTIONAL_ **."

"Do you want any pens?" Steve suggested.

Obviously Bucky wanted pens. How was he going to write without pens? He picked up the nearest box of pens and held everything up to the store owner. "I want these."

"I do have more masculine pens," the man said.

Maybe he was missing something, but that sounded extremely stupid. "They're pens." Besides, he liked the colors. "I'm gay," he added. He'd learned that breaking gender rules was more expected for gay people.

"Oh, well," the owner said awkwardly. "Uh, I have been trying to sell it." He took the pile of stuff and set it on the counter. "No one's really been into gel pens for the last fifteen years."

Steve put a stack of paints, paper, brushes, charcoal, and pencils down. "Do you sell canvas?"

"I think I have a little one," the owner said, thumbing through a pile of prints. "Ah yes, here. Michael's was getting rid of some stuff." He set it down. "Anything else I can get you boys?"

"I think we're set," Steve said as Bucky went to say goodbye to Zoe, who was sunbathing on the windowsill.

"Is your brother all right?" The owner spoke in a low voice, but Bucky easily heard him.

"He's not my brother," Steve said. "He's fine."

Brother? Bucky had just _ told _ him he was gay, why take the less obvious route? People were stupid.

"What brings you to town?" the owner asked.

"Haven't decided yet."

"Hmm. Here's your purchase. Have a great day."

"Hey," Steve said, "you ready to go, or did you want to play with the cat more?"

Bucky looked at Zoe, who blinked and shut her eyes. "I'm ready." He stood up and took Steve's hand.

Being allowed and encouraged to express feelings and desires was good but also resulted in Bucky finding himself crying, not always for a particularly clear reason. Steve would ask, "Do you want space or do you want me to sit with you?" It happened so often, though, that Steve now asked, "Space, sit, or hug?" which made things easier. What he wanted was different each time.

Right now he was fine, but he'd seen Steve's laptop when Steve was looking at a news item about Hydra, and there was a picture of Rumlow, and Bucky wanted to kill him.

He could do it. He could go and find him and kill him. It wouldn't be hard. Rumlow was alone now. Hydra--the Nazis, the fuckin' Nazis, they were nothing. They were scattered fascists just waiting for Bucky to pick them off one by one.

But maybe not yet. He needed to get his head in order first. Though by then, he might not want to. The Soldier killed. Bucky didn't want to kill. Steve invited him to help prepare dinner, so he chopped vegetables and seasoned them with salt and rosemary and garlic powder--GOD, food was so good--while Steve started the charcoal outside.

Bucky brought the vegetables out to the patio table and poured them into the grill basket. Steve set them on the grill and closed the lid. The little green anoles came to see what was going on, perching on fenceposts and scurrying away if Bucky moved too fast. The fat raccoon trundled down the sidewalk to beg for food, and a gator lazed in the canal. They should just stay in Sanibel. Why go anywhere else?

"There's a house for sale down the road," Bucky said. "I saw a sign. Then we could get a cat."

"You really want a cat, huh?"

"I'm getting a cat," Bucky said firmly. If Steve loved him, if he was allowed to make decisions, then Steve would help him get a cat.

"And I want to get you a cat, but I don't think it's a good idea to move anywhere permanent while we're lying low."

"You're making my life hard," Bucky said, and Steve let out a surprised laugh.

"Is that so?"

"Yes. First, you won't let me get a cat. I need a cat."

"And second?"

"I don't know. I really want that cat."

Steve gave him the mushiest, tenderest smile and said, "I'll check in with Natasha tonight and see where we are."

"Hmph. Fine."

"You wanna go grab the steaks?"

"Yeah, yeah." Bucky went back inside. The gust of cold air from the fridge wouldn't normally bother him, but right now it was reminding him of cryo, and he was struck with an intense burst of rage so powerful he needed to break things, namely the necks of everyone who hurt him, punch walls, kill until he'd clawed back the man they'd stolen or avenged him, and that wouldn't be enough. Because that was who he was: a killer. Point him at a target and he'd take their life.

Steve rescued him from his own head after a few minutes. "Bucky?"

Hearing the name snapped him out of it, and he took the marinating steaks out of the fridge and gave them to Steve. "It was cold," he said.

That was not an explanation, but Steve nodded pleasantly like it was and said, "You want to come back outside? That raccoon is after our food."

Bucky silently followed him back to the grill. There were footsteps on the sidewalk and he tensed, watching the woman walking toward them. "Hi," she said, without attempting to make conversation as she passed. He was already marking the spots he could stab, strike, and break. She disappeared into one of the cottages. "I can't be a person," Bucky said. "I think it's too late."

Steve shut the grill. "What happened to you isn't who you are."

"I don't know. I don't know if it's fair to try and remember, bring him back, because I'm everything he never wanted to be. That woman, I saw her and I just thought of all the ways I could kill her." He couldn't look at Steve. "That's what I am, a weapon, but maybe it's okay if you're the one pointing me."

Steve tried to touch him but he backed away. He was poison. Steve stopped. "I don't believe any of that for a second, but it wouldn't matter. I love you no matter what."

"Just because you want it doesn't mean you're right." Steve wanted everything from him and it was a lot to handle.

"What do _ you _ want?" Steve asked.

Yeah. Bucky didn't have a good answer, so he just crossed his arms.

"Well, think about it." Steve turned back to the grill to flip the steaks.

_ I want to stop hurting you, _ Bucky thought. Too late for that, though. Steve would be much more distraught if Bucky left than if he stayed, even as messed up as he was. Fuck. He was trapped. He had to get his memories back for real, if not for himself, then for Steve's sake. "I can't fix you," he said instead.

"I know," Steve said, his voice breaking just a little.

"I could stay or leave and it won't make you stop hurting."

Now Steve turned around. "That's not true. You make me happy just being here with me."

"But I was dead. Wouldn't it be easier--"

"No! No." Steve took a deep breath. "No."

"Because you feel guilty."

"It's more complicated than that."

"Then you know how I feel."

The silence hung in the air for a minute, and then Steve said, "Well, that's a start." He opened the grill and put the steaks on a clean plate. "You still hungry?"

Yeah, Bucky was. He sat down and took a plate.

He tried to sleep on the couch that night but got in bed with Steve after ten minutes. This was just how things were now. Steve didn't say a word but slid his hand over to touch Bucky's. It was all so weak. So what if he couldn't sleep the first night, or the second, or third? Eventually he'd be able to sleep. He should be recovering on his own.

He couldn't do that now. It was easier this way, but it felt wrong to take the easy way. Too fucking late. Bucky closed his eyes and listened to Steve's breathing as he fell asleep.

"Steve," Bucky asked a few days later, after a few people had looked at them while they were on a walk, "does it make you feel sick when people look at us?"

"Not exactly, but I know what you mean."

"What do I mean?"

Steve looked up at the tree above them, which was starting to bud. "When we were younger, back before we...before you were abducted and before I crashed the plane, it was illegal to be gay. People did it, of course. We had friends who were queer."

Right. Of course. Bucky knew that.

"I think we might've told each other if it'd been legal then, but...it's basically fine now. Legally, anyway. We could get married in some states."

"We can?"

"Well, not...us… I think you're legally dead, so that would be difficult, but in theory. But, yeah, once we work it out. Hypothetically. This isn't a proposal." Steve scratched his neck awkwardly. "There's some cases that might be heading to the Supreme Court to overturn the Defense of Marriage Act, so, we'll see. I still can barely believe it, to be honest."

Bucky examined this information. It was special; it made him feel better, but it was hard to connect the feelings and the facts Steve had offered with his own experience, which he still couldn't quite remember as his own, just dreamlike bits that seemed like someone else's life. He took Steve's hand, though, sliding his fingers between Steve's like he'd always wished he could do.

And there was another one of those feelings, that sense he'd always wished for this but not quite being able to connect it to anything real. The constant frustration of wanting to know everything and not being able to was stressing him out. Still, right in this moment, he could safely hold the hand of the one person whose existence he gave a shit about, so he let that be enough, at least for a few minutes.

He'd finished the diaries. They were harrowing.

Steve's phone rang, and he answered. "Hey, Nat."

Bucky leaned in to listen. "Hey, you have mail," she said.

"A subpoena, or--"

"No, it's from the museum. I opened it. Rebecca Barnes-Proctor's daughter donated another diary, an earlier one, and they want to know if you want it. You can call them on your phone, but, you know, don't give them an address."

"I want that," Bucky said immediately. "I need to see it."

"And we'll get it for you," Steve assured him. "We just need to do it safely."

"If you call them, I can pick it up and arrange to get it to you," Natasha said.

"That would be great. Thank you."

They drove out to Fort Myers to meet Sam with the diary a few days later. Sam slid the sealed bag with the diary in it across the table after they ordered food. "I'm sorry about your wings," Bucky said, because Sam was nice enough to bring him an old book of his thoughts that was probably half mooning over Steve. Old Bucky was hopeless.

"You owe me a new pair," Sam said.

Hmm. He could probably steal that. "Where are they?"

"I don't know. They probably moved the other pairs after we stole them. I'll let you know when we find them."

"You don't actually have to do that," Steve said.

"You could buy me a new car though; my steering wheel is probably somewhere on the Beltway at this point."

"I will buy you a car," Steve said.

"Your steering wheel?" Bucky asked.

"Yeah," Sam said. "You ripped it out of my car."

"I did?"

"Hey," Steve interjected. "That's not your fault."

Now he remembered. Before he'd shot Natasha, he'd killed the bald man and broken open the car. "I can't get you a car. I don't have any money." Bucky frowned. "Maybe I can steal some from a safehouse, if I can remember where they are."

"We're trying to keep eyes off us right now."

"Meanwhile," Sam said, "I don't have my own car."

"Hey, um," Steve said, "I'll buy you a car, if you want a car. Can you back off? He doesn't even remember doing it."

"I--no, I do," Bucky mumbled. Steve fighting with his friend was stressing him out.

"Whoa," Sam said. "Okay. I was just playing."

"I should...I should do it."

"No, hey." Steve touched Bucky's arm. "You're not responsible for any of that, okay? Wasn't your choice."

"Yeah. Maybe." Bucky picked up the diary and ran his thumb along the cover. It wasn't good to read it in public. Sometimes the diaries made him cry.

"Hey, I'm not actually blaming you," Sam said. "I was just trying to figure out where your head's at."

Bucky grunted. "I'll let you know when I find it."

Sam looked pleased with this answer, and the waiter brought their food. Bucky set the diary in his lap, unwilling to set it aside where it could be lost or stolen. Sam was pleasant enough through lunch, but Steve suggested they part ways right after they ate, and they headed back to the cottage. Bucky opened the sunroof on the way and leaned back to watch for frigatebirds. Steve said they looked spooky, but Bucky liked the way they soared so high, higher than any other bird. He wished he could get that high, far away from his own trauma, from Hydra, from SHIELD, the government, people who looked at him and Steve funny. He could be comfortable just riding the thermals, coasting, only coming down to catch a fish or something. Did they eat fish? They must eat fish.

"Do they eat fish?" he asked Steve.

"I think so," Steve said. "You only see them near the coast, so...yeah, I'd guess so." It was nice that Steve already knew what he was talking about. "You could google it."

"Oh, right." Bucky pulled out his phone. Googling was _ nice _, and especially since Nat had set them up with phones and a laptop that weren't trackable. "They eat squid and tuna and flying fish. Flying fish?" He looked up a video of frigates catching flying fish. "Oh wow. Steve, we have to go see these. They fly! And then--oh shit, the frigate bird got it."

"We can look into that. I don't really, uh, know how to do vacation things, so I'd need your help."

"I'm very good at vacation planning," Bucky said, and Steve grinned.

The diary started out with some rambling about writing shit down. Bucky was fifteen for the first entry, and sixteen for the fourth, which was darker.

_ There's something wrong with me. I'm fucked up. Real fucked up I think. Everyone else my age is talking about girls and I am trying to feel it but I don't. Never have. When I was a kid I said I was gonna marry Mrs. Rogers, and she thought that was funny. It was. But maybe it's even fuckin funnier if _

_ Maybe i'm just a late bloomer like mama says some kids are for lots of things. _

_ G-d please help me. I don't think i'm strong enough for _

_ I don't know how to _

_ I can't talk to no one about it. _

_ Maybe it's all in my head and I'll be normal when I grow up. _

_ Fuck i hope so. _

Ah, shit. Bucky remembered that feeling, the loneliness, the biting fear, trying not to feel the things he was feeling. He kept reading. He knew this boy. He knew him and he couldn't stop reading the entries. A year later, Bucky was managing better.

_ Fuck okay so what. So fuckin what. I can fake it. Maybe i'll find some rich dick to keep me, I could live with that. I think. It's not as if i _

_ G-d damn it why am i in love with my best friend? Are you laughing at me? I'm so fucked. So. So. Fucked. _

_ Why am I like this. Why. _

_ I fucked up. Mrs R knows. I don't know how. I told her she was crazy. I was so rude i hate myself. Steve was sleeping cuz he was sick. How did she know. I don't understand. She just said I was a good friend and then she started saying shit that was about me and pretending it wasn't me, saying she knew a fella when she was younger and he was a confirmed bachelor and he had a best friend and they were real close and no matter what anyone else said, he was good and there was nothing wrong with him. _

_ I gotta get better at faking. I about vomited. I tried to lie but i cried. She gave me a hug and a glass of water and i said i didn't know what the hell she was saying all that to me for and she was crazy if she thought it had anything to do with me but i was crying. Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. _

_ I feel cursed. _

_ Even if steve were _

_ I don't want to write it _

_ But even if he were, why would i want to fuck up his life by asking him to love me when we'd have to lie and hide our whole lives? I can't do that to him. I gotta fix this. I gotta fix me. _

_ I need to start taking girls out. Everyone already knows me and Steve are close. I can't let anyone think I'm _

_ because they'll think he is right away because he's small and pretty. I can't walk away from him but I can protect him from myself anyway. _

_ Maybe steve will fall in love with me and we can marry lesbians and all live together. I gotta believe it could happen. How am i supposed to live my whole life without this? Without love? I can't. I'd die. But i can't live without him either. So i can't tell him. _

Hmm. Teenage Bucky was dramatic as hell, but now-Bucky understood all that. He couldn't have known the things that would happen to him, and if one thing stuck despite the torture and memory removal, it was his love for Steve, so maybe teenage him was right; it was worth dying for. Or something.

This diary didn't make him cry or scream or want to break things. He just felt calm. Soothed. He was sad for the suffering he'd gone through as a child, but knowing he was, in fact, loved by Steve, in every way, made him feel happy. He didn't have to worry that this boy's dreams were empty and worthless, because he knew the ending. The diaries pretty vividly painted a picture of how Bucky had gone back and forth and lied to himself a lot before accepting that he was gay, but never once wavered in his love for Steve.

He remembered this, a little. It felt right.

He reread the diaries, finding bits and pieces of his old self in his own mind, slowly, as the weeks passed. Steve had still not been called to testify or account for Bucky's whereabouts. Bucky still hadn't gone to a Saturday service. It was June, and they'd been in Sanibel for nearly six weeks now. What sucked ass was the other memories, and they were bubbling up despite no diary entries to drag them out. The more they came back, the more dangerous he got. Week four, he thought he was back with Hydra, or Department X or somewhere bad, and he'd lashed out, strangling the tech that came too close, throttling the life out of him and screaming, "NO MORE!" until the tech punched him in the stomach hard enough to wind and even knock him back, and he was propped up against the wall, gasping for air, and oh god, Steve was lying down clutching at his throat and they just stared helplessly at each other.

Finally Steve rasped, "Are you okay?"

"You fucking asshole," Bucky choked out. "I almost killed you."

"Yeah," Steve said, "but then I nailed you in the stomach."

"I'm gonna sleep on the couch."

"You don't have to." Steve crawled over the bed to him. "I'm fine."

Bucky wanted to hit him. "How are you alive when I wasn't around to stop you from doing dumb shit for years?"

"Technically, I think I did die."

"Shut _ up _," Bucky snapped, and he stalked off to try and sleep on the couch. Predictably, he couldn't get a wink of sleep, which Steve commented on the next morning. "I don't need to sleep every night, and neither do you," he said peevishly when Steve asked.

"Buck, I can handle it."

"Maybe _ I _ can't. Maybe _ I _ don't want to wake up to find myself trying to murder my boyfriend! I don't do this!" Bucky yelled in Steve's face. "Bucky was supposed to protect you, not kill you! I keep doing it, then I'm not him and I can't be!"

Steve didn't flinch, but he did shake his head. "Do you think I'm the same man I was in 1945?"

"I just know that's the important part of Bucky."

Steve swallowed. "I want you to do what's best for you but if you can't sleep for days, that's...not best."

"Can you shut up?"

Steve shut his mouth and went outside, leaving Bucky alone to stew. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Was it worse to wake up and find himself trying to kill his only friend, his dearest beloved? Or was it worse to shut himself off and never get any sleep again in hopes of somehow reconstructing the person he was before all this shit happened to him?

He didn't want to be the asshole who yelled at Steve for trying to be nice. It was just difficult to be nice when he was finally allowed to be mad at the world.

He picked out one of the diaries and opened to a random page.

_ Sarah's gone and it's not fair. She was good. She deserved to live long. _

_ Steve's alone and so am I. We only have each other now. Well i have Becca and the folks but...none of them know about me, Steve doesn't either but he's Steve. I'm asking him to move in with me. He's going to freeze to death or cough his lungs out alone if he doesn't. Maybe i'm a selfish bastard but i want him home with me. We can look after each other. We have to. _

_ And maybe he'll find a girl and maybe...i don't know. Maybe we can live together anyway. Maybe i'll tell him. Maybe he'll love me back. Or he won't and I'll find someone else and we'll still be close. _

_ I miss mrs rogers so bad. Why the fuck did a person like her have to go? _


	7. Chapter 7

Week six, Bucky was back in Steve's bed and hadn't tried to kill him since the first incident (and the one on the highway and the one on the helicarrier). The nightmares were getting more frequent, but he mostly woke up sobbing or frozen. Sometimes Steve did first. He'd jerk awake, his breathing too fast, too shaky, and then he'd reach out for Bucky after a minute, and Bucky would crawl into his arms, and they'd say nothing. Bucky wasn't sure whether it made him feel better or worse that Steve was fucked up too.

"What do you dream about?" he asked one morning as he fried up some eggs and bacon for them.

Steve gnawed on his lip. "Just bad shit."

"I dream I'm a Nazi plaything again. Sometimes a Soviet one. That's not as bad. Still bad. What are you seeing?"

Steve was quiet for a minute, and then he said, "Times I failed."

"Oh. Me. That's why you reach out for me."

"Not just you, but…" Steve sighed. "Yeah. Sometimes earlier stuff. Losing Mom. Getting the shit kicked out of me when you weren't there. Sometimes later stuff. The aliens in New York thing. We almost lost Stark's kid." He came up behind Bucky and wrapped his arms around his waist, settling his chin on Bucky's shoulder. It was new and it was very nice. "Maybe I reach for you because I've been in love with you since before I knew what that was and knowing you care for me and being able to hold you in a world where we can do that safely is some kind of heady fever dream I never want to wake up from."

The bacon grease popped and Bucky flipped the strips. "I slept with Stark." He'd read it in the diary, but he remembered it too, because they'd done it more than once, blowing steam off while they mooned a little too much over Stevie. Oh, shit. Steve was being romantic and Bucky just told him he'd fucked someone else. "I'd sleep with you." Too much. "Fuck, can we pretend I didn't say either of those things?"

"Probably not," Steve said, but he didn't let go. "You fucked Howard?"

"Yeah, a few times. He liked you but I was easier I guess. I liked you and he was easier. He was nice, he was…" Bucky trailed off, Howard's face suddenly becoming clear in his mind, but older, and… "No, no, please," he pleaded with an uncaring world as he saw Howard begging him to recognize him and he killed him instead.

"It's not your fault, Buck," Steve said soothingly.

"I...I should've...why didn't I know him, I should've known him, I…"

"Bucky, you survived. No one could ask more of you than that."

"You _ knew _."

"I...suspected. But I didn't see the point in overwhelming you with things before you remembered on your own."

"Go to hell," Bucky said, because it was the easiest thing to say.

"I'm sorry," Steve said, and he tried to let go, but Bucky grabbed his wrist and held him there.

"No," he moaned. "No, I need you, I…"

"I'm here."

"He said my _ name _," Bucky breathed. "But I didn't...I knew something was wrong, but I just finished the mission. I didn't stop, why didn't I stop?"

Steve held him tighter and nuzzled his neck. "Wasn't you, sweetheart. You couldn't have done anything different."

Steve was wrong. He'd always had the choice. He didn't know who he was, and he'd believed the lies that he was helping people, that he was doing good, but he'd also seen the fear and pain in people's eyes.

Bucky remembered the elegantly dressed and coifed woman in the open top car. Wearing light pink. Smiling. Her terror as she crawled across the back of the car to escape the open where his bullets could take her life as easily as they took the life of the man next to her. She'd been classified as acceptable collateral damage, but he'd waited for the clear shot. He'd made that choice.

But he'd killed both the Starks. Not that he'd remembered the woman in pink at the time. "I didn't kill the woman in pink," he said. "I was allowed, and I didn't."

"Buck." Steve turned off the stove and moved the crispy bacon off the burner. "Every bit of rebellion is a miracle, not a reason to beat yourself up for not doing more."

That sounded like a lie, but it was a good one. Sounded professional. "Does the kid know?"

"What kid?"

"His kid. You're friends with him, right?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say _ friends _\--no. He doesn't know."

"Well," Bucky started, his breath coming too fast, too sharp now. "Well, what, are you just gonna keep lying to him? Just...just…"

Steve backed them away from the stove. "It's _ not _ your fault. There were--" He stopped. "At some point I might tell Tony, if I think he can handle it, only if you're okay with it, but we don't have to even think about that right now."

"But I…" Bucky couldn't breathe right, his heart was pounding, and his ears were ringing. Not this again. "But I have to think...I have to…"

Steve maneuvered him to the bed and held him through the fit. Bucky caught bits of soothing words as Steve rubbed his shoulders, only one of which felt nice. He was there and not there and having a body was too much and having a mind was worse.

He came back. He always did. He could breathe normally again. Steve was sitting against the headboard and Bucky's back was pressed to his chest. Still rubbing Bucky's shoulders. He could feel the left one, but it really wasn't the same. There was something consoling about knowing Steve felt free to touch his evil robot arm, though.

"I'm so much work," Bucky said after a few minutes.

"Nah," Steve said, which was bullshit.

"Liar."

"Well, I have a lot of stamina," Steve said. "Gotta make use of it somehow."

Bucky twisted around to look into his stupid blue eyes. They were kind of grayish this close. "You're a superhero," he grumbled. "You're supposed to be saving the world, not...me."

Steve shrugged. "Maybe you are my world." His grin was a little too much. Then he winked.

"That's a stupid line."

"Did you like it?"

Bucky glowered. "Yes." He rested his head on Steve's chest and traced swirling patterns on the heather-gray t-shirt fabric with a metal finger. "Sam would be easier for you, though."

"Maybe," Steve said, "but, uh, I--I--" He stuttered, his chest bouncing a little with his nervous breathing. "I need you."

_ Oh. _ Steve hadn't been kidnapped and tortured into madness, but he'd lost the man he loved, faced an icy death, and then woken up to find a foreign world where Howard was dead, Peggy was only half there, and the Howlies were scattered, old, and dead. His mother had died too young, and all he had left of his world from before that he thought he had any right to want now was Bucky, now that Bucky had come home to him.

So Bucky was difficult and brain damaged and paranoid and prone to panic attacks. He was moody and jittery and _ trying _, and Steve needed him too.

He looked back up and tried to smile, although he was pretty sure it didn't look good. Steve seemed to like it, though, because he smiled back.

"I'm here," Bucky said, and Steve nodded.

Bucky opened the first journal later. It was still empty. He felt like he wasn't good enough to sully it with his writing yet, or maybe he wouldn't want to put down how he felt now, because the future was going to be better, and that's the only thing he'd ever want to reread. Still, it was worth a try.

He stared at it for ten minutes and gave up, shutting the book and setting it back in the nightstand with the others.

"Hey," Steve said, "you want to go do the bird loop?"

Ooh, yes. It was a good excuse to get out of the efficiency without having to talk to other people. Also, the birds were pretty. Last time they got real close to a couple of large birds they managed to ID as yellow-crowned night herons, which was probably very cool. As of last week, they were the proud owners of a National Geographic Field Guide to Birds of North America and two pairs of binoculars. There wasn't much else to do around the area that kept them away from other people, but they were finding they enjoyed learning about the local wildlife. Bucky was already planning on having three royal poinciana trees in their yard, once they got a house for the cat, which they also needed to get.

The refuge was hot and quiet, and Steve pulled over to get a look at some white birds. "They've got these long, curved red-orange bills," he relayed to Bucky. "And red up around the eye, too." They were sitting on the hood of the car as Steve adjusted the binoculars to get a good look.

Bucky flipped through the guide. "This?" he asked, showing Steve the white ibis.

Steve looked down. "Yeah, that's it. We should start a list."

"Oh, there's a checklist in the back." Bucky showed him. "I've been checking it off." He pulled a sparkly green gel pen out of his pocket and marked an X in the white ibis box. "That's why I wanted this one instead of the...the other...the blue one."

"Peterson?"

"Yeah." Bucky lifted his binoculars and looked at the small flock of ibises. "One of them is brown." The odd one caught the sun. "No, it's...rainbow."

"Oh, that's beautiful. I should try my hand at drawing birds."

"You should. We can put it up in our house." The bird startled and flapped, causing a cascade of flapping and the whole flock took off. Bucky followed them with the binoculars for a few seconds, but then they landed behind some foliage.

"Yeah. Soon. I hope."

"I'm gonna, I'm gonna write the news article."

"News article?"

"Yeah." Bucky held up the field guide, pointing at a fake headline. "Captain America Retires with Mad Boyfriend to Go Birdwatching."

"I don't think you're supposed to call people 'mad' in the news anymore."

"What do you say, then?"

"I don't know. Mentally ill?"

"Not snappy."

"I think that's the point."

"Huh." Bucky reconsidered. "Captain America Retires With Long-Lost Gay Lover to Go Birdwatching."

Steve snorted and took the book from him. "Yeah, that's not gonna pass an editor either, but I like it. Although I _ think _ just 'Cap and Bucky Retire to Go Birdwatching Together' would be enough."

Bucky huffed. "Sounds platonic."

"Not if there's pictures."

Yeah, but pictures of what? If anyone was trying to take pictures of Steve and Bucky snuggling in bed, Bucky would probably stop them one way or another. And they'd never…

Huh.

Steve was looking at the book. "Glossy ibis, I think," he said.

"Steve," Bucky said.

Steve looked up. "Hmm?"

Bucky kissed him. Steve's eyes widened in surprise and then fluttered shut, so Bucky shut his eyes too. They were safe enough. There was no one around but the gators and ducks. Steve's lips were soft but dry, and it didn't quite come naturally, but it wasn't supposed to be perfect. He was just trying to tell Steve something he didn't know how to say yet.

"Pictures of that?" Bucky whispered, his lips still brushing Steve's.

Steve hummed affirmatively and kept his eyes shut, pressing his forehead to Bucky's, the tips of their noses brushing whisper-soft against each other.

The air was warm and salty, bugs were buzzing and birds flapping while the gators lazed at the edge of the water, and Bucky was open to the whole experience. Not blocking any bit of it, just soaking up the whole soft sensory bath, and especially the body heat radiating from Steve.

Even less than two months ago, standing on the helicarrier as Steve desperately tried to make him remember he was a real person who was loved, he couldn't have imagined this kind of peace and comfort. He certainly couldn't have believed a thing like him could know it.

Yeah, he wasn't finished cooling. He was gonna have to sit on the windowsill and possibly get pecked at by birds or--make weird baked goods metaphors…

The point was that he wasn't done. He had nightmares and panic attacks and trouble with hyperalertness and misjudging new situations very badly. But. He was currently sitting on the hood of a car birdwatching with his boyfriend in Florida, which sounded pretty fucking normal, and a thing that real people do. And kissing! Bucky was _ kissing _ Steve.

He was happy. Just for this moment, he was happy.

A car pulled up and stopped behind them, so Steve regretfully pulled back. "You want to get in the car?"

"I'm okay," Bucky said. "We were here first." He kept an eye on the family getting out of the car, though, and pulled his jacket on over the left arm.

"Well hi, neighbors," the dad said. "See any good birds?"

"Ibises," Steve said, pointing.

"IBISES, DADDY!" the smaller girl yelled, while the older one said, "Molly, you're gonna scare the birds!"

"Crocodiles!" Molly cried, a little bit quieter, and her dad chased her as she scurried toward the water.

"Could you....watch…" he said helplessly as he ran after the little girl.

The older one rolled her eyes dramatically. "My sister is five. She's so annoying. Are you guys brothers?"

Steve's eyes widened at her boldness. "Uh, no. We're not." He put an arm around Bucky.

She gasped and took a few steps closer, leaning in like she was sharing a secret. "Are you _ gay _?" she asked excitedly.

"Um, well, I'm bise--uh, yeah. We are."

"I just found out about that, and it's so cool, because boys are gross!"

"How old are you?" Steve asked, amused.

"I'm Fiona, and I'm nine and a half. Does your boyfriend talk?"

"No," Bucky said, and Fiona giggled.

The dad came back then, carrying a squirming Molly. "I was looking at the crocodiles," she whined.

Fiona put her hands on her hips. "They're _ alligators _, not crocodiles!"

"I'm sorry," the dad said. "I hope we aren't bothering you." His gaze stopped on Bucky's face and he stiffened, his eyes darting down to look at the arm Bucky had hidden with the jacket.

Okay. Bucky must know him.

"Girls, get in the car."

"But Dad--"

"In the car, _ now _."

Okay. Yes. He was Hydra. So now he had to die. Bucky got up.

The girls shut the car door.

"Wait," the dad said. "Wait, please. I have kids. Not in front of them."

"What's going on?" Steve asked.

"He's Hydra," Bucky said.

"No. I'm not. I swear. They killed my brother, they were gonna kill my kids, what was I supposed to do? I shot some of them when Cap invaded the Triskel--oh, god." He seemed to see Steve for the first time. "But I swear I didn't know who you were until after."

"You knew I was a person," Bucky said, wondering if Hydra people even had any conscience to shame. "You were there, weren't you? You saw what they did to me."

"Look, I was just trying to keep my daughters alive. What the hell was I supposed to do?"

Bucky sighed heavily. "I like Sanibel. If I let him live, we have to leave."

"Buck," Steve said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "If you kill him, we _ definitely _ will need to leave."

Maybe, but then one more of them would be dead.

"Cap. My kids. Please. If he gets to be free of Hydra, why can't my family?"

Bucky's heart moved into his throat. "Is that who I am? Is that what you--" He took a deep breath. "You get to decide that? That I'm one of them? I'm not. I'm not. I'm n--" Oh, god, it was happening again. He couldn't breathe. If he could get his hands around the man's neck he could complete the mission and everything would be fine, his handler would get him back to…

His hands were around a neck. Blue eyes looked back at him. Hands pushed against his wrists. He had to. He had to. He...no… "I have to. I have to," he gasped.

_ Do you know where you are? _

Mission.

_ Can you see me? _

_ I'll leave the area, I won't be back. _

_ Bucky, can you see me? Can you speak? _

See who? See what?

Why were his hands refusing to apply any pressure? He was broken, he was…

_ Bucky. Buck. Sweetheart. _ "Baby, let's sit down."

Oh. That was real. That was a real person talking. Gravel dug into his butt. He tried to squeeze again and met resistance, met strength that pushed his hands away. That wasn't right. No one could fight him.

No one could fight him, so why...was…

"Stop," he said, trying to regain control. "Stop, I'll make it fast, they'll kill you anyway."

"Bucky, it's Steve. Look at me."

_ Obey. Obey. _ He was glitching. It happened. His handler would set him straight. "I'm malfunctioning," he said. They would use the words and fix him if necessary.

"You can touch me if you want to but you need to take your hands off my neck, Bucky."

Move hands. He could do that. He moved them.

"Bucky, do you know where you are?"

_ Answer. ANSWER. _ "No," he said. _ The words. The words. Empty him out and wake up with blood on his hands and more blank spaces. _

"You're in Florida. You're with me. Steve. Your boyfriend. We're in the Ding Darling wildlife reserve. You're safe, you escaped Hydra, and you're not on a mission. Do you understand?"

"No," he said honestly, although it sounded familiar. "Did I fail?"

"No, Bucky. There was nothing to fail. You didn't do anything wrong. You're safe." Strong arms eased around him and he let them. "I got you. Just take your time. I'll keep us safe."

"Steve," he mumbled, holding on to the only real thing in the world.

"That's right."

Steve. Steve was his. Steve was his boyfriend. He wasn't a weapon. Steve called him Bucky. He was Bucky. He'd escaped. That all made sense now, but he couldn't seem to get back into the world. This was well past the point where they'd use the words or throw him in the chair, and Steve wasn't going to do that. So he was stuck.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

Hmm. Steve was real so maybe he could make the rest of the world real. He followed that trail for a minute or an hour or something.

Something.

Crunching on gravel. Engine. Door. Husky voice. "What's going on here?"

"My partner is a vet, ma'am. He's having a panic attack and I'm handling it."

Panic attack?

He wasn't panicking; he just couldn't connect with reality right now. It happened sometimes because of the brain damage. That was what the words were for. That, and when he refused. He refused sometimes, and woke up on the other side having done it anyway.

His brain. Funny. He didn't feel real, so why was his brain damage real? Why was--what was that wet feeling?

In front of him. To the side. His face. His cheeks. Wet. Eyes open and stinging. Throat aching. Steve was real, and now the alligator thirty feet away was too.

Oh, and the woman.

He turned around. "Where did she go?" There was no one else there.

"She left twenty minutes ago," Steve said.

"She was just…" His fucked up head did not process time the way it was supposed to. "I wasn't always like this, right?"

"Not before the war."

"The war," Bucky mumbled.

"After I found you in the prison camp you had, I guess, trauma responses, but not like this."

Bucky considered that for a moment and then remembered. "Did I just try to kill you?"

"Not very well," Steve answered.

"Why did I do that?"

"I don't want to set you off again. Can we talk about it later?"

Later. Yes. There was a later. He had lots of time with Steve. That was fine. Later. He nodded.

"Should we go home?"

"No," Bucky said, but that wasn't right. He didn't want to choose; he wanted Steve to handle it. "I mean. You...you do it. You...I'm not...I'm not working, I--I can't--" He shut his eyes and hid his face against Steve's shirt. "You do it."

Soft lips pressed against his forehead, and Steve said, "All right, Buck. Let's get back in the car."

It wasn't until evening fell that Bucky managed to remember and parse the events of the day. "Do you wish you'd killed him?" Steve asked. It was a heavy question, and Steve's face was nervous when he asked it.

Bucky looked at his hands and saw blood everywhere, and frost, and dirt, and bullets. "No," he said, and wasn't sure he meant it. He had to be good for something other than killing, but maybe he wasn't. And if he wasn't, he had to kill the right people.

But he didn't want to find blood all over his hands again. He could do other things with them.

The empty journals he'd bought were in the nightstand. As Steve heated up water for tea, Bucky picked out the glittery Paris journal, uncapped a pen, and sat down to write.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cat

_ I kissed Steve and he kissed me back. I wish I could go back and tell my younger self we would get to have that, but I wouldn't want him to know what we had to go through to get there. _

_ I think I know who I am now, but I wish it was easier to live in my own head. _

That was as far as he got that night, but he kissed Steve again when they went to bed.

Two weeks later, Natasha called. "Do you want the good news first or the bad news?" she asked.

"Good news?" Bucky said tentatively.

"Okay. Good news is, you, James Buchanan Barnes, are now legally alive and a citizen of the United States."

"Bad news?"

"CIA wants a word."

Steve's jaw clenched. "Are we better or worse off?"

"Better. They have the files from the dump. It's an incomplete record of what exactly happened to you, Barnes, but they might be prepared to quietly drop any potential charges and clear your name in exchange for heavy debriefing and monitoring."

"Monitoring," Steve repeated. "I don't think so."

"Free-roaming Winter Soldier is gonna be a hard sell, Steve."

"You said 'might be'," Bucky pointed out.

"Yeah. Clint says we should just go with a media campaign and get the President to pardon you. Which honestly might work, but you'd have to go public, show the world why you're not a threat, get real with the press about your recovery journey and feelings and take cute pictures with puppies or something. Steve can pull some 'I just want to marry my high school sweetheart' shit and tug heartstrings. That's an option."

"Wow," Steve said.

"Wow, how'd I know, or wow, what am I talking about, or wow, shut up, we're not there yet?"

"We're there," Bucky said.

"Good boy. So it's that, or you can have some private talks with the CIA and they might like what they hear and send you on your way. Or they might not. CIA's a lot like the KGB, so if they get their hands on you…" She sighed. "You know. It's a risk. We can only set conditions to mitigate the danger. I don't think they'd make you a literal prisoner, and obviously they don't want Cap as a mortal enemy, but if they can leverage what they know to make you work for them, they might."

"I don't want…" Bucky took a deep breath. "I don't want them to...I'm done with that."

"What about the Army?" Steve asked. "Bucky's been a POW for almost seventy years. Shouldn't they have something to say about it?"

"Worth a shot," Nat said, "and I have reached out, but I wouldn't count on their help. It's too complicated. I mean, Steve, he shot--well. You know."

"Howard?" Bucky said, and Steve squeezed his hand.

"That too, but no. You remember sniping a guy in Dallas, open top car? Woman in pink with him."

"Yes."

"Yeah, so, that was the President."

"Oh, Kennedy. Steve told me."

"So the Army might not feel, um, obliged to back you up. It's not your fault, and I'm sorry, but it is what it is. Sleep on it. We'll talk tomorrow. Do  _ not _ start anything without me." She hung up, and Steve looked at Bucky.

"So…"

"I hate every option."

"Yeah." Steve put an arm around him. "Nothing's ever easy in this world."

"No fucking kidding," Bucky grumbled, leaning into Steve. "We'll have to do the public thing if the Army won't help. I don't want to work for any government murderer agencies anymore." He sighed. "So 'Cap and Bucky go birdwatching, kiss' should be the headline, I guess."

"I'll do whatever you're most comfortable with. I'm already famous, which...I gotta say, is a lot weirder today in the States than on the front lines during the war. But that ship has sailed. It's not so bad. Kids recognize me. I get asked to take selfies sometimes. Conservative commentators misuse my name and I tell them where to shove it. I think what would happen is a period of public exposure, and then things will settle, and we can have a somewhat private life after that. Assuming we can get you a presidential pardon. Which, it's Natasha, so, probably."

It couldn't be that simple. "Steve, are you...what do you call it. Do people know you're queer?"

Steve paused, his fingers tightening just a little bit on Bucky's shoulder. "No," he admitted. "No, I'm not out publicly. I didn't even think Natasha knew. Pretty much the only people who know besides her are a couple I...uh...met on a discreet app and...but that was before I knew you were alive, so please don't be jealous."

Jealous? Bucky  _ had _ Steve. Steve was _his_. Who cared who used to think Steve could be theirs? Didn't matter. Bucky kissed Steve softly and whispered, "Did they make you happy?"

Steve _shivered_.

Bucky was delighted.

"As much as they could," Steve said, nosing against Bucky's cheek. "For the time. Not nearly as happy as you make me."

"That's fucking right," Bucky said, and Steve laughed.

"God, I love you." Steve's hand came up to hold Bucky's cheek as he gazed into his eyes, smiling. "So much."

His eyes were shining, so bright and full of love and Bucky wanted to bask in it, and he was also a little afraid of it, which was stupid, but he was, so he said, "How much?"

"Hmm. Hard to quantify, really."

"Enough to let me get a cat?"

Steve closed his eyes and huffed an amused breath out through his nose. "We can go to the Humane Society tomorrow, but no promises."

Good enough, so Bucky moved on. "Steve, if you tell people you're queer, will that be hard?"

"Well, I'll have to come out at some point, I think. It's fine. I'm fine with doing that. You--" Steve frowned and gnawed at his lip. "You uh, Buck, you are doing amazing, but do you think being in the public eye is something you even want right now? You've been a little...I mean, when I say you're doing well, I mean it. What you've been through, I…"

"But I freaked out two weeks ago and tried to kill you because I wanted someone else dead but I couldn't even do any of it."

"I was going to be nicer about it, but yeah. That was  _ severe _ dissociation, I think is the word for it, and I'm worried that will get worse, not better, if we drag you into a spotlight. Then again, if the CIA harasses you, probably we'll have the same problem."

"Fine," Bucky said. "Then let's stay here forever."

Steve's face got a responsible look on it. "I wish, but I need to get you professional help."

"You get professional help."

"I'm not--"

"You need it."

Steve pressed his lips together.

"You have nightmares too," Bucky pointed out.

"I'm handling it."

"Me too," Bucky said impishly.

"O-_kay_," Steve said, annoyed. "I get it."

"Go to therapy."

"I'm revoking your internet privileges."

"You can try."

"I'm fine."

"Steve." Bucky took his hands. "I'm not saying I'm a great judge. I just...I see you. I don't think it's normal to have nightmares like you do. I think you're very strong because you gotta be because I'm so fucked up, but I think you're also in a lot of pain and I can't fix it. I told you that."

Steve looked away, but said, "And it's gonna get worse when we have to face the mob. Yeah."

Bucky squeezed his hands. "Like she said, we should sleep on it. And now we have to have a cat. Everyone loves cats."

Steve looked very tired. "Yeah. Okay."

Good enough for now. They watched TV until bedtime. As Bucky lay next to Steve, listening to his breathing and his heartbeat, he thought about what Natasha had proposed. "Steve?"

"Hmm?"

"_Do_ you just want to marry your high school sweetheart?"

Steve rolled over and wrapped himself around Bucky. Bucky could feel Steve's smile against his cheek. "I don't want to rush this," he said. "But if I did say that, it wouldn't be a lie."

Bucky turned his head and kissed Steve. "Steve?"

"Bucky?"

"Do you want to have sex?"

Steve hesitated. "Right now?"

"No, I mean...generally."

"I'm not in a particular hurry."

"If I wanted to, though."

"Do you?"

"I don't know," Bucky said. "Maybe if we tried, I would want it?"

"Honestly," Steve said, "I'm not ready."

"Oh. Why?"

"I don't know. It's hard to explain. I guess because, with you, it would mean everything, and I just want to take it slow. I think we should wait for both our sakes."

Bucky ran his hand along Steve's back. "I think you're right." He kissed Steve again and whispered, "Good night."

"Night, Bucky."

"Get off me! Don't touch him!"

Bucky jolted awake. What was happening? Fight? No. Bed. Florida. Sanibel. Steve.

Steve was having a nightmare. Violently. This was new.

"Steve," he tried.

Steve thrashed and sat up, arms reaching out. "Hold on! Hold on!"

"Steve. It's me, it's Bucky. Wake up."

"He's not yours!"

Bucky touched Steve's hand. Mistake.

Steve grabbed it and yanked him forward, putting him in a chokehold. "Don't _touch my friends_," he growled as Bucky gasped for breath. He was starting to see spots, so he planted his knees and rolled forward, throwing Steve off the bed and loosening his grasp, and then he leapt off the bed and hit the light switch.

Steve froze and blinked. "Bucky?"

"I'm here. You know where you are?"

Steve jerked his head around, taking in the room, escape routes and defenses. "Sanibel," he said, still breathing heavily.

"That's right." Bucky tried to remember how Steve talked him down. "You're safe. It was a nightmare."

"I was...you…" Steve shuddered and crawled over to Bucky.

"I'm here," Bucky said as Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky's waist and pressed his face against Bucky's stomach. "I'm here. We made it here."

Steve suddenly jerked up. "Did I hurt you?"

Bucky petted his hair. "Not really."

"Oh, god."

"It's okay. I won."

Steve squeezed tighter, taking deep shuddering breaths. "What happened?"

"It sounded like you were having every nightmare at once. I tried to touch your hand, but you put me in a chokehold, so I rolled off the bed and turned on the light, and that's all."

"Oh, no."

"I'm okay." Bucky coaxed Steve to the couch and turned on the TV, but Steve just huddled against him, not watching.

"Uh," Steve said after a few minutes. "This is really fucking awful. I'm sorry I didn't take it seriously enough when it was you."

Bucky rubbed his shoulder and didn't say anything. What was there to say? Life was hard and nightmares sucked. Steve tapped his fingers restlessly until he got up and went to the bathroom. The TV flickered, showing some comedy war show about doctors. Bucky tried to get interested, but when Steve hadn't come out of the bathroom for fifteen minutes, he got up and knocked on the door. "Steve?"

No answer.

"Steve? Say something."

He didn't, though Bucky could hear him breathing.

"I'm coming in."

Steve was gripping the edges of the counter and staring straight down, like he was trying to avoid the reflection in the mirror he didn't even need to be near.

"Stevie," Bucky said softly.

The crunch of teeth grinding made Bucky wince as Steve bit out, "I'm supposed to be grateful for this body."

"You miss being small," Bucky said, and his heart ached. He could remember, sometimes, the way his body used to feel. Not as tireless, not as dangerous, but softer. No metal parts. Muscles that were functional but not massive. He'd never been chubby, but he was soft enough to cushion Steve's small, bony body.

"I couldn't hurt you before."

That didn't sound right, as Bucky had a flash of Steve elbowing him  _ hard _ in the face, though probably not on purpose, but all right. They really were mirror images of each other. "We're made for each other," Bucky said. "We're the only ones who can handle each other."

Steve squeezed his eyes shut, and Bucky pried his fingers loose so he didn't break the sink. "I can handle you, Stevie."

Steve finally looked at him.

"If you didn't have this body, I'd be dead, or...they'd've gotten me sooner, and New York would be gone, and...you saved me twice."

Steve closed his eyes and shook his head. "You're right. But it's...I don't know."

"Maybe our bodies aren't just for violence." Bucky kissed Steve's cheek. "See?"

He melted, his face softening, and nodded.

"Come back to the couch with me."

"Okay." Steve let Bucky lead him back to the couch. Margaret was yelling at BJ, but Bucky had missed too much to know if BJ deserved it or not.

"You can be the little spoon," Bucky offered. He hoped Steve might laugh but he just lay down and let Bucky hold him.

BJ asked if Hawkeye had anything to add. Hawkeye said Margaret had covered it.

"We can change the channel."

"It's fine," Steve said. "I like this show, actually. It's...you know."

"Yeah," Bucky agreed. "Yeah." World War II and the Korean War weren't the same, but war was war, and this particular show seemed to strike a balance between funny and refusing to downplay the horrors. "Steve, I can take care of you too." Bucky kissed the back of Steve's neck and said, for the first time he could remember, "I love you." Whispered it, his heart thumping as he held Steve tight.

Steve shifted against him, nestling closer. "I love you too. And I know you can, but you shouldn't have to. I should be...I should be okay enough to..." His breath was deep but shaky.

"It's okay. I want to. That's who we are. We take care of each other." Bucky kissed his shoulder. "You can sleep. I'll be right here."

Steve didn't reply, but his breathing evened out, and eventually they fell asleep.

They were still wrapped up together on the couch when the sun rose. Bucky woke first, missing the usual weight of Steve's limbs holding him down. But he was pressed against Steve's back, sandwiched between him and the couch back, and drooling just a little bit on Steve's neck. Whoops.

"Steve," he whispered.

Steve grunted.

"Steve, it's cat day."

"Mmkay," Steve mumbled.

"Get up, we gotta eat breakfast and shower and go see the cats."

"Mmkay."

"I will push you off the couch."

"I know you will," Steve yawned. "You can try."

That was a challenge, so Bucky planted his butt against the back of the couch and shoved. He had very much overestimated how much Steve was planning to fight him, though, with the result that Steve went flying off the couch and rolled into the coffee table.

"Ow," he croaked as Bucky scurried over to apologize.

"I'm sorry! Steve, I'm sorry, I thought you were--I'm sorry, please, don't, please, I'm sorry." He knew what he was saying was not appropriate to the situation he was in now, but he couldn't stop. His brain had decided he was in danger from whoever was in control and was trying to mitigate the pain he was going to have to suffer. "Please, I won't do it again, I won't, I'm sorry." He pressed his back to the couch and curled up, trying to make himself small and nonthreatening.

"You're safe," came a soothing voice. "You're safe. I'm right here. No one's going to hurt you."

Steve. Steve. Steve.

"That's right, I'm Steve, I'm here, Bucky."

Bucky. Steve. Safe. Here. Right. Yes. But…

"Just breathe with me, all right? In...and out… In...and out."

Bucky obeyed, trying to get control over his shaky, shallow breathing.  _ Panic attack. Again. _ When he could breathe again he reached out blindly and Steve took his hand.

"You with me?"

"I…" Bucky tried to explain. "I know I wasn't...I know they're not here, but I...I...it just happened, I couldn't make it stop."

"I know, Buck."

"I'm not afraid of _you_," Bucky said desperately.

"I know, sweetheart. It's okay. Can you see me? You know where you are?"

"I know. I know. I know! I know." Bucky took a deep breath and looked up at Steve. "I know." He tried to uncurl his body, with partial success. "I got trapped. I got stuck. I knew it was just you, but I...my brain decided I was back with them, and I couldn't fix it."

"What can I do to help?"

Fuck, he still wanted to see the cats. It was cat day. That was the plan. And cat day meant he needed a shower. But if he went and showered alone, he might lose control and disassociate for an hour. "Help me shower." Steve was his boyfriend. Showering together wasn't weird. They'd done it before, he was pretty sure, during the war.

"Of course. Right now?"

"Yeah." Maybe by the time they got out, Bucky would have an appetite for breakfast. "Yeah. Help me up."

Steve pulled Bucky to his feet and ushered him to the bathroom. He started the shower while Bucky stripped, keeping an eye on Steve the whole time, because Steve was real if anything was. "Join me?"

"Oh. Yeah. Okay." Steve stripped down too and followed Bucky into the shower. "Narrow fit. We're a little big these days."

"Well, I would hate to touch you by accident."

"Yeah, it might be awkward," Steve said, making some kind of face that was probably trying to be leering, but wasn't, because it was Steve.

"We showered together before, right?"

"Yeah, after missions. Not usually just the two of us, but sometimes."

"We could've been _fucking_," Bucky muttered. "But I was fucking Howard instead. Thought you'd never want me back."

Steve gestured for Bucky to turn around and started washing his hair. "You think any of the Howlies thought we _were_?" he asked, massaging Bucky's scalp with his fingertips. "Because now that I think about it, we were pretty handsy. Hell, on cold nights they only fought over who got to sleep against my back. No one ever tried to take your spot."

"Oh. Yeah. No, well, uh, I remember something." Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on the memory that wanted to be seen. "He knew about...he walked in on me and Stark...uh...he was queer too, and he kept our secret."

"Who?"

Bucky tried to focus on the face. "Uh...James. He was James too."

"There were four Jameses in the Howlies."

"Right. Mustache, pretty, always looked a little sad."

"Monty. Falsworth."

"Yes! Him. He lost his...man...I think." Bucky turned back around to rinse his hair out.

"I didn't know."

"No, there was a lot of lying about queer stuff then."

"Damn, this was all right under my nose. I feel like I was bumbling around like an idiot back then."

Bucky kissed him. "You were."

"Okay, smartass, why don't you wash my hair?"

"Turn around." Bucky reciprocated, and as his fingers ran through Steve's hair, he asked, "Did I hurt you?"

"No, I'm really fine."

Fine. Steve was always fine. Never mind that Bucky had nearly killed him three times. Whatever. Bucky conditioned his hair and started on his body.

"Turn around, I'll get your back."

Bucky obeyed, and Steve washed his back. Slowly. Really slowly. "Steve?"

"God, you're beautiful," Steve murmured. "I'm so fucking happy you're with me again."

"Me too," Bucky said.

"When I saw you in the museum, when you let me take your hand, it was like I could breathe again." The washcloth dropped to the floor. "Like my lungs had been filled with water since I went into the ice and never really drained." Fingers dug in around his shoulders and neck and back. It was _good_, and Bucky had to force himself to let it happen, to accept the pleasure instead of rejecting it as foreign and strange. "I know it's nothing compared to what you--but it's been hard, Buck."

"Not like I'm easy now."

"No, this? This is easy. The nightmares, the panic attacks, the fucking dissassociating next to alligators? Easy. Trying to live knowing you were dead, that the one time you needed me to hold on I couldn't? That was almost impossible."

"Is that why you didn't try to get out of the plane?" The words slipped out. Bucky hadn't meant to ask yet.

Steve was silent. His hands slid around Bucky to his front, and Bucky leaned back into him.

"It's okay. We're together now. That's what matters." Steve was pressed completely against Bucky now, and Bucky could feel him, soft, against intimate parts. If the conversation weren't so heavy, Bucky might be interested in looking at that physical feeling. Probably another one of those things his body was afraid to like because he'd been denied pleasure for so long.

"I--" Steve choked on the words and pressed his face against Bucky's shoulder.

"It's okay, Stevie."

"I'm sorry," Steve whispered.

"It's okay. It's okay. We made it to the future. It's okay."

"I didn't want--" Steve sounded like he could barely breathe. "I didn't want this to--I'm sorry."

Bucky twisted his head around to kiss Steve's forehead. "I'm here. I'm with you. When it gets bad, I'm here."

"I don't want you to think about it."

"But we promised." Bucky pried Steve off of him so he could turn around and hold him. "We promised, and I'm a person, so I'm going to. For you. I love you."

Steve took a deep breath. "I, uh." He bit his lip. "I love you so damn much."

"We're gonna be okay, Stevie. We have to be."

Steve blinked hard and kissed the corner of Bucky's mouth. "Yeah," he said, nodding like he wanted to believe it. "Yeah."

"Let's finish up before we lose hot water because I  _ know _ we're both going to be miserable if we're stuck in a freezing shower."

"Yeah," Steve agreed, shivering a little and squeezing Bucky just a little tighter. Then he let go, and Bucky helped him wash his back.

They dried off and dressed, and as Bucky brushed his hair, he asked, feeling queasy, "Steve, you wouldn't, now, right?"

Steve stilled with the fridge door half open. "I promise you that I will never leave you," he said, the words sounding almost rehearsed.

"Okay. That's all."

Steve shut the door. "You know what? I don't feel like cooking. You up for eating breakfast out?"

"Yeah, yeah, I can do that." Bucky threw on a jacket and glove. They went out, and Steve was distracted so Bucky took his hand and ordered for both of them. "Are you going to be okay if we do this, this public thing?"

"I'm Captain fucking America," Steve said, deadpan. "I'll be fine."

Bucky kissed his fingers. "We'll work it out."

"Look, I…" Steve took a deep breath. "I've had these thoughts since before Mom died, it's nothing new."

"Oh, Steve. Did I know?"

"No. And I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"Okay."

They ate, and the large amounts of eggs, bacon, hash browns, and fruits cheered Steve up a little. "Hey, you wanted to go see the cats?"

"Yes," Bucky said instantly.

Steve set a few twenties on the table and got up. "I wouldn't mind petting a cat or two."

"Yes." Bucky grabbed Steve's hand and half-dragged him to the car. "Where are we going?"

"Humane Society. Off the island. It's a pet shelter."

Bucky crowded him against the car and kissed him. "I love you, Stevie," he whispered.

"Excuse me," a man's voice said sharply. "There are  _ children _ around."

He should be freezing up, but he wasn't. He just turned around and said, "Good, maybe they'll learn something."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Yeah, go fuck yourself. I'm gonna kiss my boyfriend if I want to."

The rude man looked taken aback but puffed himself up while his two tween kids watched. "Then you'll burn in Hell for it."

"Dad!" the older one whined. "Mom says you shouldn't say that."

"You're not with your mother this weekend," he snapped.

"All right," Steve said. "We should go."

Bucky rolled his eyes but got in the car. "Since when do you back down?"

"Since we're supposed to be keeping a low profile, and there are kids, and you already told him to fuck himself. I figured that was enough."

"Burns though, doesn't it? Shutting up?"

"Yeah," Steve confirmed, pulling out of the parking lot. "Hey, I'm proud of you. Dealing with that. You're doing so good."

"Yes, I am," Bucky agreed. "I didn't even think about killing him. I guess he was too pathetic. What grown man believes in Hell?"

"Lots of Christians," Steve pointed out.

"I...forgot about that. That's fucked up."

Steve's expression settled into a very fond smile. "I love you."

"Do you believe in Hell?"

Steve shrugged. "I feel like I've already been."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "That's not a real answer. Are you still...you've been back and forth, I think."

"It's not exactly easy to be Catholic and queer and...with everything I've seen since I...I don't know. I guess the answer you want is no, I don't believe in Dante's Hell. Having literally met two Norse gods, however, I'm not sure what to think of anyone's mythology right now."

"You should introduce me."

"Yeah, well, one's in jail, or in the Asgard dungeon--I don't know how they do things--and I haven't seen Thor since he went home. But yeah, next time I see him."

"If it's a good day."

"Yeah."

Bucky thought for a minute. "Why'd you change your mind about the cat?"

"Because I hate being in a holding pattern," Steve said. "I mean, I like being here with you, as long as we need to stay, but if there's something you want and you know it, it's stupid to be stuck waiting. We can get a cat. That's easy."

Wait. No, it was not easy. Bucky was a broken, fucked up lunatic who had panic attacks and disassociated and screamed at night and sometimes tried to kill his boyfriend when his head gave him bad intel. What the hell had he been thinking? "Wait. Wait, I can't take care of a cat. I'll hurt it. I'm not--I can't. What if something happens, what if…"

"I'll be around. I'll help. It'll be our cat. It's gonna be okay."

"No, you don't understand." Okay, that was stupid. Steve  _ did _ understand. "I mean, you do, but I...how can I keep something alive when all I've done for the past seventy years…"

Steve reached over and rubbed Bucky's leg. "We can just look today. I called them the other day; they like having people play with the cats. It's okay, Buck. You deserve this."

Maybe, maybe not. He squeezed Steve's hand and tried to believe it.

They pulled into the parking lot of the Humane Society after nearly forty-five minutes on the road. "Ready?" Steve asked. Bucky nodded and got out of the car. Steve took his hand as they walked inside. "Hi," he said to the person at the front desk, who was frantically typing something. "We're interested in adopting a cat, can we see them?"

She looked up. "Uh, yeah, you been here before?"

"No, first time."

"Okay. Uh, sorry, I am super busy, but through that door, take a left, look for the door with the big 'Cats' sign on it, and go inside. Keep the door _shut_. You can open the cat cages, but don't open too many at a time, don't let any escape, and don't play with 626, she's probably not adoptable." The phone rang. "Shit. Uh, I'll be there at some point maybe, go ahead." She answered the phone, and the men went to find the cat room.

The sign was very visible, a bright purple chunk of posterboard with glittery letters that just said "CATS" on the door. They went in, and five cats mewed at them immediately. Steve spotted an orange tabby named Farfalle and tried to befriend it. Bucky walked around the cages, looking for the right one. The cat in the far corner cage was some kind of tabby, though its coloring was lighter than usual. The sign read "626," but Bucky wasn't interested in following instructions these days. He sat down and said, "Hi."

626 sat up and growled, retreating as far into the corner of her cage as she could.

"I understand," he said, half to himself. "I feel like that a lot of days."

She hissed.

"Yeah. That too. At least I have Steve." With her hackles up and her front facing Bucky, he could now see that most of her front left leg was missing. His stomach flipped and his eyes burned. He looked away. The internet said cats didn't like being scrutinized. "Did something happen to you, or were you born like that?"

Growl.

"It's okay, you know. You can survive anything, just about, if you have someone there for you."

Whine.

Steve peered around the corner with Farfalle in his hands. "Are you talking to the one she told us not to?"

"Yeah."

"How is it?"

"Scared. I think someone hurt her."

"You want that one, don't you?"

"I'm gonna see if she wants me. Give us space."

Steve nodded and backed out of sight. Farfalle squeaked. Bucky very slowly opened 626's cage door. 626 tucked herself in the back corner, purring furiously. Purring didn't always mean happy, though. Bucky stayed seated, looking away from her. "It's okay," he said. "Someone hurt me too. It's hard to trust people. Strangers."

She hissed but kept purring. He waited. Steve played with seven different cats before 626 started inching toward Bucky. He stayed still and relaxed as she began sniffing at his hand. The door opened and the girl from the front desk came in. "Hey, guys, sorry about earlier, we've been slammed with--did I forget to mention  _ not _ to let 626 out?"

"No, you did say that," Steve said. "He wanted her anyway, I guess."

"Uh…" She took a step toward Bucky.

"Give us space," he said. "We're bonding."

"Okay, well, here's the thing, uh, 626 is fucking crazy. She's shredded half the staff's hands. As far as we can tell, her owner died unexpectedly, and the owner's brother got the cat, and he was, like, a criminal, a fence or something, he abused her, kicked her and shit, we think, and then ended up in a standoff with police somehow, and tried to barricade himself in with a filing cabinet, which landed on her paw. By the time a vet got to her, it was totally busted; he had to amputate. That was a couple months ago, and she's really messed up. We're trying to rehab her, but honestly, with her level of anxiety and aggression, it might be kinder to put her to sleep. We don't even know her name; we just call her 626 like Stitch, because she's crazy."

"What's Stitch?" Bucky asked very calmly as 626 bit his metal hand and jumped back in surprise.

"Like Lilo and Stitch?"

"What?"

"It's a kids' movie."

"Oh."

626 growled and swiped at him. He didn't move, but he made a very quiet, sad noise. She was very confused now.

"Huh," the girl said. "The Humane Society is not liable if she tears your arm off, though."

"It happens," Bucky said, and Steve spectacularly failed to hide an amused grin. "You want to come home with me?" Bucky asked the cat.

"Hey, masochist, you know cats can give you infections when they bite, right?"

Bucky slid his other hand toward the cat. "She didn't hurt me."

626 examined his bare hand and bit his finger, but not very hard. He made a sad noise again and she stopped. She was very responsive. It didn't seem right that the shelter was considering putting her down. She licked his finger.

"I'm taking her home," Bucky said. "She needs me."

"Oh boy. Okay. Listen, these things don't always have a happy ending. This isn't Air Bud, or whatever."

"I don't know what that is, but...I just think I understand her."

The girl rubbed her eyes. "I don't think my boss will let you, honestly."

"We'll sign whatever you need," Steve said.

"No, it's not that simple--well, maybe it is, I don't know, I have to ask my boss, I guess. Are you sure you don't want a more, um, pleasant cat? Farfalle is looking for a forever home."

"No," Bucky said as 626 headbutted his hand. "I want her. See? She's fine."

"Yeah, she's fine until you pick her up, or take her to the vet."

"She can still be my friend even though someone hurt her," Bucky said, a little sharply. 626 retreated. "She shouldn't have to die."

"Well...cats aren't people. You can't--we don't--look, you--"

"I don't care. I want her to come home with me."

The phone rang and the girl just said, "Uh, okay," and scurried out to answer it.

"So, she's the one," Steve said.

Bucky watched 626 out of the corner of his eye. She was very slowly approaching him again. "Yeah."

An older woman came in. "Tara said--wow, you really do have the little demon out."

As soon as she started talking, 626 growled and whined, all her fur standing up. "What did you do to her?" Bucky demanded.

"Look, intake with abused animals can be rough, but someone's got to do it. I had to do certain checks, and that involved restraining her in a probably triggering manner, so yes, she hates me. She's a cat who holds grudges. I do not recommend trying to adopt her. I appreciate your compassion, but I've been here a long time, and there's always the aggressive, anxious animals that someone wants to save, and they almost always bring them back after a week or two, half the time threatening to sue us because the animal they swore they could handle scratched them."

"But you don't want her. I want her. This is a stupid argument. I'm taking her home."

The woman looked to Steve for help, but he just shrugged. "We'll take the demon one."

She shook her head and went back into the lobby. 626 was suspicious but her fur de-poofed in a couple minutes. About ten minutes later, Tara came back with a cardboard cat carrier. "You don't have to take her today, but if you do, you can use this. Good luck getting her in there. I have paperwork." She handed a clipboard to Steve. "Waivers and shit. Also, she can't be an outdoor cat. She can go outdoors on a leash and supervised, but you have to promise you're going to keep her indoors, primarily."

"We will," Bucky said, watching 626 examine his fingers again.

"Have you had a cat before?"

"Well," Bucky said, frowning, "we used to feed that alley cat, right?"

Steve blinked. "Oh, I did not remember that. Yeah. That's not the same, though."

"Okay, we will provide you with some instructions and a list of things you'll need. Never buy Blue Buffalo or Meow Mix. Love your cat. Feed her wet food sometimes, not all the time. And play with her. For a cat like that, I recommend those fishing pole type toys, so you can spare your hands. Tripods need exercise. Also, cats sleep a lot and you can't really train them to stay off the furniture. Since 626 still has her back legs, she can jump up pretty well, but jumping down might have balance issues. And she'll jump, 'cause she's a bengal, and they can jump really high. She's gonna need places to climb, scratch, perch, sleep, hide. She can't go as high as she could with four legs. Get boxes. Cats love boxes. Oh, and don't feel like you need to call her 626. She's a cat. She'll answer to anything. Or nothing, more like. Anyway, it's all on those papers. Fill that form out, and if you can get her in the box, you can have her. Normally we'd do a full interview sesh, but we're super slammed, and you seem like you have the patience, so my boss decided to approve you."

Steve filled out the forms and Tara gave them more information about the cat, vet visits, her microchip, and fees. Bucky finally managed to coax 626 into the box as Steve paid the adoption fee. The cat wailed as he carried her in the box. "It's okay," he cooed. She was not assured.

They drove back to the island, and 626 whined the entire way. Steve stopped at a pet store before they headed home and they picked up a litter box and other necessary supplies. "We might have to pay extra for having a cat in the cottage," Bucky said.

"I can afford it," Steve said easily. "Hell, we've been living in a vacation bedsit for a couple months, which is more expensive than an apartment."

As soon as they shut the cottage door behind them, Bucky opened the box and 626 leaped out, raced around the rooms, and hid under the bed. They set up the litter box, scratching post, cat bed, food and water bowls, and toys while she acclimated. The litter box was covered at Tara's suggestion that 626 would want the security.

"Are you going to rename her?" Steve asked as he started making lunch.

Bucky considered. "Maybe. Not yet. I'm going to wait for the right name to come along."

626 did not come out for two days except to use the litter box. She sneaked out at night to eat; Bucky and Steve heard the crunching and lapping from their bed. Having found a more secure spot than her cage, she was claiming it and she was not going to attempt to appease anyone to make sure they wouldn't hurt her.

On the third day, she went to her food bowl while Steve and Bucky were eating breakfast, which was surprising progress. She ate a little bit, so they went on a walk to give her time. When they returned, she'd finished her food and retreated back under the bed.

Day four, she sat by Bucky's feet for three minutes while he watched MASH.

Day five, Natasha called and asked for their decision. "We've decided we'll do as many fluffy or painful interviews and Instagrams as it takes to avoid the CIA," Steve said as 626 sat on the corner of the bed, flicking her tail, and watched him.

"I understand," she said.

"And we have a rescue cat with three legs now."

"Good move," she commented. "I will call tomorrow night with instructions. You're going to have to move around a bit for now, so start packing. Don't worry, this'll be fun."

626 suddenly flung herself into the air and smacked a moth into her mouth with one paw. As she chewed it, Bucky looked at his prosthetic arm. Humans needed more redundant systems. Cats were much better designed. He was going to write that in his journal tonight.  He sat down in Steve's lap. "This is going to suck, isn't it."

Steve just looked determined as he put his arms around Bucky's waist. "Just a different kind of battle. And I plan to win."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to put this at the end of the last chapter, but I didn't, and I couldn't edit the chapter without making subscribers miss it. So! It's in its own chapter for now, but once the whole fic is done I'll probably move it to where it's supposed to go. apologies for getting anyone excited for four paragraphs.

Natasha called the following night told them to start driving north the next morning, and she'd give them more information while they were on the road. They packed up the car that night, and Steve finished paying for their stay and apologized for the cat. In the morning, Steve washed the breakfast dishes while Bucky wrangled 626 into a harness and leash and then carried her litter box and bowls out to the car. As he shut the trunk, he stiffened. Something felt wrong. Maybe he was just hearing wildlife, but...it sounded like footfalls, not the fat raccoon's steps. He reached into his belt for a gun and looked around. He turned around slowly, watching for unusual movement. Nothing. The trees were too spaced apart for anyone to hide. Maybe. He looked at them, and then the footsteps resumed. He jerked around to see a man had emerged from behind the office building.

"Nice weather," the guy said.

Wrong wrong wrong wrong enemy enemy not friendly enemy run kill fight-- "What do you want?" Bucky said jerkily.

The man opened his mouth and said a word, and Bucky could not grasp it, could not make it mean anything, could not understand, but his muscles rebelled, the gun fell from his hands, and everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> any excuse is a good excuse to bring in a character who died too young. stay tuned. i'm bringing in the HOTTEST guy in the MCU next chapter.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> happy hanukkah and merry christmas

_ A quick kill switch in case he goes rogue. We may not always have the time to go through the ten words. _

_ How often can it be used? _

_ Once. It will make him seize and faint. It will not work a second time. Do not ever say it in front of him unless you absolutely need to. _

_ Do you ever think...this is wrong? That we could have a volunteer instead of a prisoner? _

_ Americans are brainwashed. This is for the best. He had nothing to live for anyway. The mind wipes are a mercy for a man like him.  _

_ Still, it seems dangerous. _

_ He must be dangerous. That is why we have him. _

_ Why do we let that Nazi choose what to do with him? Nazis are the scum of the earth, and even if he does not remember, they despise what he is. _

_ Sometimes, for the motherland, practicality demands putting aside one's personal distaste. The scientist knows how to make him a better weapon. _

_ We will not give him to the Nazi, surely? _

_ No. Zola works for us. The Soldier is not his toy. And do not speak of what the Soldier is. He is not those things anymore. He is only a soldier. _

Forgotten. Lost. Voices speaking over him. Sleep. Wake. Awake. Wake up. Wake up.  _ Bucky Barnes, with both arms, short hair, wearing a blue coat, but still with haunted eyes, shaking him. "Wake up! Don't let them kill us again!" _

He jerked awake.

"Shit, it's awake."

Bucky was in a familiar place. His arms were restrained in thick cuffs and he was in a chair he recognized. Four men were guarding him while two techs pressed buttons. He pulled at the cuffs, but they didn't budge. His ankles and neck were similarly cuffed, and he was shirtless. Fuck.

"Put it under again, doesn't it have a kill switch?"

Shit shit shit they were going to destroy him and he couldn't  _ do _ anything, his brain would just obey when it heard...

"Sputnik."

Nothing happened.

"Fuck! One time only. Of course. He had a seizure. Damn it. You got the syringe?"

The other tech crossed his arms and looked at Bucky. "It doesn't matter. It's not going anywhere. We get this thing working, and the Asset's as good as ours."

"And if we don't get it working and you-know-who tracks us down first, I want the tranq gun ready, damn it," the first tech said.

"Let me out," Bucky said.

The techs ignored him. "I'm almost done with the rewire. Then we gotta fix the software. A couple hours, probably."

"I'm a person," Bucky said. "Look at me. I'm not a thing. You can't do this to me. Not anymore."

The first tech actually looked uneasy, but they didn't stop.

"Let me go." Bucky couldn't breathe right. "Let me go. Let me go let me GO LET ME GO LET ME GO!" he screamed helplessly, his eyes burning. It wasn't fair, after all the work he'd done to get himself back that they could just press a button and steal Bucky away again, leaving an empty shell they'd probably order to kill Steve. Again. And 626, for good measure. "LET ME GO! YOU CAN'T DO THIS! I'LL KILL YOU--" He yelled until one of the guards stepped forward and whacked him across the face with the barrel of his gun.

He shut up, more out of habit than fear. He was afraid; hell, he was terrified, but he wasn't  _ more _ afraid of the guard for hitting him. He could take a hit. He could take fifty. But the Chair? That was a weapon too evil to exist in the world.

"Why?" he choked out. "Why? Pierce--Pierce is dead, it's over, please, I just want to go home, I'm not the Asset, I'm Bucky Barnes, I'm a person, I don't want to fight, please." It was amazing he hadn't disassociated, but he was in real danger. Maybe his body was hoping he'd escape.

"Make it shut up," the mean tech snapped. The other one approached Bucky with a syringe. Bucky struggled, but it was no use. The needle jammed into his neck. He fought the sedative for a minute, but it was too strong, and he drifted away.

"Garrett can do what he wants. We have the Asset. We're gonna be on top."

"Not as long as Rogers is alive."

"That's why we have the Asset kill Rogers."

"Didn't work before, man."

"Yeah, but this time, we're ready."

Bucky forced his eyes open.

"Speaking of ready, we are ready."

No, no, no, shit. They were ready to kill Bucky Barnes. After all that effort. After all that reading and remembering and crying. "Stop," Bucky croaked. "Stop."

The heartless bastards didn't care. "Okay. Ready. Still can't make it go as fast as it used to, but it'll work all the same." The second, colder tech straightened up and held out a mouthguard for Bucky.

Bucky clamped his mouth shut and wrenched at the cuffs. No, no no, god, please no.

"Have it your way. I don't care how many teeth you break."

Steve would find him. Steve would save him. He opened his mouth and screamed, "I'M IN HERE. HELP ME! I'M IN HERE!"

"Are you done?" the second tech said, unimpressed, and flipped the switch.

The chair started reclining. It was slow, but it didn't matter. It would work. It would end him. He would be nothing. He would kill Steve. Tears came to his eyes. He could take the physical pain, but Bucky would rather die than let Steve be killed. "Please," he whispered. "Please. I'm a person. Please."

They didn't listen.

Time seemed to slow down. Bucky tried to grab all the memories he needed to hold onto. Finding Steve in the museum. Steve taking care of him when he was panicking and crying on the floor of the apartment he'd shot up only days prior. Kissing Steve for the first time. The diaries. The diaries had his memories from before, but not enough from now. He'd lose it. It would be gone. His body was already surrendering to the familiar dread, to leaning back and letting the pain take him. He'd lived much longer as a weapon subordinate to someone else's whims than he'd lived free, at least on this side of things. It was too easy to let it happen, let his mind be erased, turn back into the Asset. These techs were strangers, some Hydra bastards that were trying to take advantage of the power vacuum, but like everyone who'd ever owned him, they didn't see him as a person, and didn't listen to his pleas.

But they didn't have to.

The door flew open, and the guards dropped, two, three, four. As they fell, they revealed a trio of commandos in black uniforms: a blonde woman, a black man, and a light-haired white man.

"Help me!" Bucky begged. He hadn't completely surrendered, then. Not yet.

The black man pointed his gun at the techs. "Turn it off. Now."

The colder tech sneered. "You're not gonna shoot us in cold bl--"

The white man did exactly that, dropping him instantly with his oddly quiet gun. "Sure I will," he said, shooting the other one. English accent.

"The switch the switch FLIP THE SWITCH!" Bucky shouted frantically as the halo came down, and the woman rushed forward, slamming it down with the halo just inches from Bucky's head. It powered down, and the seat back rose. "Steve," he gasped. "Where's Steve? Where is he? Steve? STEVE!?"

"Whoa, whoa." The black man lowered his gun and came closer. "You're all right." He tapped his ear. "Captain, we got him. He's fine."

"WHERE IS STEVE?" Bucky screamed.

"Steve is fine. I'm talking to him right now."

The woman hit something on the machine, and the cuffs all clicked open.

"Easy does it," the black man said as Bucky stood up unsteadily, panting. "You with us?"

Bucky grabbed his collar. "Let me talk to him. Give me that. Now. Give it to me." He was out of control and he didn't care. He didn't know these people.

"Sure thing." The man popped the earpiece out of his ear and handed it over.

Bucky put it in. "Steve?"

"Bucky." Steve's voice was a glorious oasis. A place of safety. Bucky took a deep breath. "Oh, thank god. I was so scared."

"Where are you? Who are they?"

"They're okay. They're safe. You can go with them, and I'll meet you as soon as I can. We have some cleanup here, but I swear I'll be there soon. Oh god, Bucky. I thought--I should've--I'm so glad you're okay."

Bucky released the man and took a step away from him. "I'm not, I'm not giving this thing back."

"That's fine," the black man said pleasantly.

"Buck, I gotta go, but I'll be on the line if you need me. I love you."

"Okay," Bucky said, and he tapped the earpiece.

Now that Bucky wasn't about to get his brain fried and he'd spoken to Steve, he was able to really look at the man whose earpiece he'd taken. He looked familiar, but more interestingly, perhaps, he was the second most beautiful man on the face of the planet. "Who are you?"

He held out his hand. "I'm Trip. You knew my grandfather."

"Gabe," Bucky said slowly. Now that he thought about it, it was probably a bad thing that Gabriel was one of the very, very few black men he'd known back then.

Trip nodded. "It's an honor to meet you. Granddad told us stories. This is Bobbi and Lance. We work for SHI--well, the remnants of SHIELD. The one without Nazis."

Gross. But Steve was working with them. So, fine. Bucky looked at the other agents and zeroed in on Lance. The English one. "Do you have a grenade?" He looked the most likely to have one.

"Oh, Sarge, I have something much better." Lance pulled out a small device. "Where do you want it?"

"This might have intel we want," Bobbi said.

Lance shook his head. "Let the man get some catharsis, yeah?" Bucky pointed at the chair, and Lance planted the device underneath it. "Let's get these bloody goons clear and you can detonate." He lifted up a tech and dragged him to the door.

"You killed them," Bucky said, confused.

"These are ICERs," Trip explained, hauling a guard. "They deliver a fast-acting dendrotoxin to knock people out instantly. Mind giving us a hand?"

Bucky didn't like it. It was cleaner if they were dead. But he wanted to get back to Steve, and arguing was too much work, so he helped pull the unconscious men out of the room. When they were all through the door, Lance handed him a device. "All you, mate." He shut the door and let Bucky stand at the window to watch.

Bucky pressed the button and watched the Chair explode into fiery chunk of metal and plastic. He hadn't panicked or disassociated. He was almost proud of that, but more anxious that he was about to do one or both of those things. "Gabe, I want to get back to Steve," he said. "I mean. I'm sorry. My brain. It's damaged."

Trip smiled. He really was intensely handsome. "No offense taken. Follow me."

Bucky did, but he looked back at the unconscious Hydra agents. "We're just going to leave them?"

Bobbi answered. "CIA's coming for them. Cap kind of broke SHIELD, so we don't have the capabilities we used to. Don't worry. They won't wake up any time soon."

"You work with the CIA?"

Lance laughed. "Ha. No. We leave them presents and we get the hell out before they try to nab us too."

"What he's saying is," Trip said, "it's complicated. This way."

They emerged into the sunlight. "How...how long have I…?" Bucky stared at the unfamiliar surroundings.

"Thirty hours," Trip answered, opening the passenger door to a black SUV. "Get in. We'll take you to the Bus, and we'll meet Cap's crew in the air."

"I don't think we have any extra shirts in the car," Bobbi said, "but we'll get you one on the Bus."

Bucky froze in front of the car. Too many factors. Escape the CIA. Go with strangers who are not strangers, because one is Gabe's grandson, but good people can have evil family, but Steve said they were good, but they were SHIELD, and SHIELD was Hydra, but they'd saved him from Hydra.

"Let's move, mate, before the CIA gets here," Lance said, stepping too close. Bucky held a palm out, stopping him, trying not to hit him.

"Sar--" Trip paused. "Bucky. We'll tell you anything you want to know, but we gotta get out of here. Look, Hydra surprised us. We're all feeling betrayed. The sooner we get back to the Bus, the sooner Cap can meet us up there. You still got the earpiece."

That was true. "Okay," Bucky conceded, but he couldn't let his guard down as he climbed into the passenger seat. Every sound, every movement shocked his nervous system. He couldn't calm down. His skin stuck to the leather seat. Trip drove them a mile down the road and straight into the cargo hold of an airplane. Bucky got out, and the ramp closed. He was forgetting something. He was forgetting something big. Something he needed to remember. Oh god. Had they used the chair on him and he forgot?

Then a distressed, posh English voice cried out, "Do you have him? She's going to kill us all if she escapes the carrier!"

Bucky jumped into a combat stance, but then a growling whine cut through his mess of fears and feelings. "Oh, cat," he said, his shoulders dropping in relief. "Where is she? I'm here, kitty, I'm coming." He half-ran up the stairs and snatched the cat carrier bag from a wide-eyed young woman. "It's me, kitty, it's me," he cooed, letting her sniff his hand through the mesh. She whined again. "She doesn't like to be handled," he explained.

"Right, of course, well, she does not like any of us."

"Is Steve here?"

"No, he's--"

The earpiece crackled to life, and Natasha's husky voice came through. "We've reached the jump jet. Wheels up in 30."

The young woman gestured to a door. "Come through to the main room so we can all debrief. I'm Dr. Jemma Simmons, by the way."

Bucky glanced at her. "Bucky."

"Yes! It's amazing to meet you." She led him through the door into the main area, and Bobbi, Lance, and Trip followed. Bucky found the nearest couch and unzipped the cat carrier.

"Oh, do not let her--oh, okay." A woman Jemma's age but with darker features winced as 626 emerged, but the cat just huddled in Bucky's arms. He leaned his head against her furry neck.

"We're aloft," Nat said in his ear.

A low woman's voice said, "Headed your way. Rendezvous in twenty minutes."

There were a half dozen people on this plane besides the team who'd rescued him, and Bucky was not in any state to meet new people right now. He held 626 close and tried to breathe, tried to stay in his own damn body, tried not to panic. She needed him. He needed her, and he needed Steve. But he had Steve. He pressed his earpiece. "Steve? Are you there?"

"I'm here. So is everyone else."

Everyone else was on the channel, but so fucking what. Bucky needed Steve's voice. "I'm...I'm not...I need you."

"I'm coming. Twenty minutes, Buck. I'll be there."

Bucky tapped it again so his attempt to control his breathing wasn't heard by everyone on the channel.

Lance approached, carrying a shirt and sweatshirt. "I'm sure the ladies are enjoying all...that...but you might want these anyway."

"Why would I care if ladies enjoy it?" Bucky said, annoyed, as he eased 626 off his chest so he could pull the shirt and hoodie over his head.

"Oh,  _ sorry _ , mate," Lance said dryly. "If I had all that going on I'd probably show it off, is all."

Bucky rolled his eyes and petted 626, who was currently burrowing under his sweatshirt. He inhaled through his nose, out through his mouth as the cat half-kneaded his stomach. Her frantic, anxious purring helped him feel just a bit calmer. His eyes burned. They had almost dragged him back to the hellish prison he had been trapped in for seventy years.

"Sarge," Bobbi said, walking way too close. "You up for a debrief?"

"No," he snapped, too harsh. Where was Gabe? Gabe would watch his back. Gabe would keep them away.

No, he wouldn't. Gabe wasn't here. His name was Trip.

Breathe, Bucky, he thought. Breathe.

He tried very hard just to focus on his breath as the team met around a table and talked, periodically looking over at him. The light-haired, middle-aged man had a gaze that was both gentle and very, very dangerous, and Bucky didn't like him at all. To be fair, he didn't like any of them besides Trip. It was a bad day for liking people.

Presently the plane rattled and banged a bit, and Bucky jerked up. "It's the jump jet," Trip said, indicating a ladder that extended from the roof. Bucky wrested 626 out from under his hoodie and set her on the chair.

The first person to come down the ladder was Clint, who was wearing a black and purple outfit. He went straight to the middle-aged man and said, "I'm going to kill you myself."

"That's fair," the man replied.

None of Bucky's business, and Steve was emerging from the jump jet. His suit was slate blue with a star in the center, and he set down his shield just before Bucky crashed into him. Safe. He didn't say a word. He just tucked his face into Steve's shoulder and let the tears flow.

"I'm here, baby, I'm here, you're safe." Steve's embrace was tight and just as scared as Bucky's. "Did they hurt you?"

"They--almost," Bucky bit out, shaking. "They tried to...they had a chair and they...but Gabe came in time. I couldn't fight. I couldn't."

"I should've been with you. I'm so sorry."

"They...Steve…" Bucky sniffled. Steve kissed his cheek and every nearby bit of his face. "I didn't want to lose myself again. I'm supposed to be a weapon but I couldn't fight."

"No, no, Bucky, you're not a weapon, you're just you. You're okay. You got away. You're safe. I'm here."

"I know, I know, I…" Bucky lifted his head and Steve's eyes were shining and bloodshot too. There were too many people around witnessing his pathetic breakdown, but Steve put his warm hand on Bucky's jaw and kissed him, and that helped. He hadn't lost himself. He hadn't killed Steve. They were safe and they were together.

Steve was salty, and Bucky didn't know whose tears he was tasting. They parted too soon, but now Bucky could look in Steve's eyes, and that was reassuring too.

Ah, shit. He'd abandoned 626. "The," he tried. "The cat."

"Oh, she's okay," Steve said.

"I know. I left her. Over there."

"You want to go sit with her?"

Bucky nodded.

"All right. Come on." Steve kept an arm around Bucky's back as they walked back to the couch and sat down. Bucky curled up in Steve's arms, and 626 jumped into his lap, whining.

"Family portrait," Sam said, and Bucky said, "Fuck off," as he removed his earpiece.

"It's a good tableau," said Nat, taking the device from him, "and you'll need the PR."

"Guys," Steve said, tired but stern. Bucky was grateful that Steve understood him so well. Nat and Sam backed off, but the others were talking.

Jemma said quietly, but not quietly enough, "Did, uh, did  _ anyone _ know about them--I mean, lovely, of course, but--

"I  _ knew _ it!" the dark-featured girl interrupted in a triumphant half-whisper.

"How could you possibly know?"

"Uh, I've seen the old newsreel footage? They look like Paul Newman and James Dean!"

Bucky sank further into the couch and Steve. It was annoying enough to have people speculating on his life in front of him; worse that he hadn't even been  _ doing _ what they said he'd been doing but it would've been damn nice if he had been.

"Why didn't you come?" Bucky asked suddenly.

"We had two possible locations," Steve answered. "Coulson's team got us the intel, so we took the jump jet, and their team went the other way. I really thought you would be at the other location." He pressed his face into Bucky's hair and took a steadying breath. "I wouldn't give up on you, no matter what happened. I would...I would go through it all again with you, if we had to. A hundred times."

"It didn't happen," Bucky said, more to reassure himself. "It didn't. I'm still here."

Steve pressed a trembling kiss to his hair. "I love you," he whispered. "I don't think I can ever let you out of my sight again."

"Okay," Bucky agreed, scritching 626's head. "Okay, Stevie. Yes."

Trip came back. "Hey, Sar--uh, actually, what do you want to be called?"

Bucky didn't look up. "Bucky."

"Got it. You up for a debrief?"

"No." Truly, he wanted to be somewhere far away from everyone who wasn't Steve and 626, and he wanted to be on a soft, warm bed, with Steve lying completely on top of him so he didn't have to think about or worry about anything.

His neck hurt. Now that the adrenaline and cortisol were ebbing, the pain was rising. Fuck, that ached horribly. He must've strained himself trying to escape.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Steve asked.

Yeah. He could do that. "He used a word. Made me black out. Faint. I…" The dream came back to him. No, not a dream. A memory. "I seized and fainted. Kept me out for a long time."

"A word?"

"It was...he tried to say it again, but it didn't work the second time. Ss…" He couldn't say the word, could barely conceive of it. "Russian satellite."

"Sputnik," Trip said.

"It doesn't work now." The words. Shit. Those were  _ not _ one time only. "Steve, I have to tell you something."

"Okay, what is it?"

"Not here."

"All right. What happened after that?"

"I woke up." Bucky knew Trip was listening, but that was okay. "I remembered something. I was restrained. They had me in a chair they were working on. They said Garrett can do what he wants but they were going to use me to rise to the top of what was left of Hydra."

Trip snorted. "Garrett's extremely dead."

"They used some kind of sedative on me, and I went back under. When I woke up, they were ready to use the chair on me. I asked them to stop, but they didn't care. That's when Gabe--sorry. Trip. Sorry." Bucky looked over, but Trip just smiled at him. He really did look like Gabe. Bucky continued. "That's when they came in. I don't know anything else. That's really everything." He tried to look up and grunted in pain, touching his aching neck.

"Here, let me." Steve slid his hands up to Bucky's shoulders and gently worked the muscles. Bucky let his head droop forward as Steve's fingers eased his discomfort. 626's claws dug into his thigh, but he didn't care. He agreed with her. If everyone else would go away, life would improve a lot faster.

Right now, he needed to improve her life. "Has she been fed?" No one answered, so he raised his voice. "Hey! Has my cat been fed?"

"I tried," Jemma said defensively, "but she tried to murder me! She's a proper terror for only having one arm--one paw--uh, three paw--sorry."

"Have you eaten?" Steve asked.

"Not hungry. Where is the cat food?"

"In our car."

"Where's the car?"

"A couple of agents are going to meet us with it when we land."

"Then what?"

"Um, I don't know. Nat had plans." Steve's thumbs carefully worked down a knot in what was left of Bucky's left shoulder. "Unless you want to change them. You don't have to decide now."

"You," Bucky said. Everything was too much. He needed Steve to deal with it.

Steve understood. "Okay. Feel better?"

"Yeah."

"Good." Steve leaned forward and slid his arms around Bucky, kissing his neck.

"I need...us out of here."

"Right," Steve said. "When are we landing?"

"Forty-five minutes," the low-voiced woman said. She was in the room now, and Bucky saw that she was short, but she looked terrifying.

"Is that okay, or do you want to see if we can find a room to be alone?" Steve asked quietly.

So much for understanding. "You."

"Oh, right. Uh…"

626 climbed down and raced across the floor and disappeared into her litter box, which Bucky hadn't seen before now. It was next to a door with a restroom sign on it, which made him realize how badly he needed to pee.

She was exactly like him. Scared to use the bathroom, because she was so vulnerable when she did. Afraid of all the people around, even though they were most likely not planning to hurt him. Stuck with the patterns and habits that served him when he was trapped and being abused, latching on to the one person who promised to be good to them, in a setting that didn't make sense. And it hadn't even done him any good! He'd still been abducted and nearly erased again.

He hated what he'd become.

And he had to pee. He moved Steve's arms off him, got up, and shut himself in the bathroom. It was definitely an airplane bathroom, with plumbing that minimized splashing, but it had a mirror and a lot more space than most military or passenger planes. Bucky unzipped his pants and emptied his bladder. Shit, he'd been holding it for thirty hours. Strange. In the past, if they were keeping him restrained, they'd use a catheter or something.

Those men had no fucking clue what they were doing.

Motherfucking Christ.

And they thought they were going to rule Hydra with a supersoldier they knew how to give brain damage but not physically maintain?

Bucky started laughing in an airplane bathroom with his dick in his hand. He managed to zip himself up and wash his hands, but he started giggling again when he saw himself in the mirror. Those fuckers had scared the shit out of him, but now that he was something vaguely resembling safe, he was starting to think he would've ended up killing them even if they had succeeded in a mind wipe. Idiots.

He liked being alone in the bathroom, but 626 started to whine, so he reluctantly went back out to her. Steve wasn't on the couch anymore. Bucky spotted him talking with Nat and Sam, which was annoying, because he wanted Steve back but he did not want anyone else near him except 626 and  _ maybe _ Trip.

Steve caught his eye and raised an eyebrow. Bucky held his hand out, so Steve came to him. "Do we have to stay with these people?" Bucky asked in a low tone as Steve took his hands. "I want to be somewhere they don't know about, just me and you. Cat needs that too."

"We'll do that. Once we land, we can take our car, drive an hour or so, and find a motel. Good?"

Bucky nodded. "Trip's all right, though," he said. "I keep calling him Gabe, but he's nice about it."

"He's a good man." Steve ran his hands up Bucky's arms. "If there's one thing I'm grateful for, it's that we found each other again in a world that won't lock us up for this."

"It might lock us up for other things."

"Yeah. But not for loving each other." He cupped Bucky's cheek in his hand. "Not that."

His hand was warm, and it gently reminded Bucky of another time Steve had saved him from being tortured, seventy-one years ago, though Steve hadn't at the time felt safe enough to touch him so tenderly.

Forty minutes in a plane full of people who didn't care if Steve kissed him and hugged him and stroked his back lovingly. Could be worse. He could survive it.

He did. They landed in a hangar and Steve carried the litter box while Bucky carried 626 in her carrier.

Coulson attempted to put them up in a room at the Playground, as he called it, but Steve declined. "We're going to get going as soon as Piper and Davis get here. It's just--This isn't the kind of space he wants to be in right now."

"Of course. Keep in touch."

The agents arrived with Steve and Bucky's car (fully packed) and passed it off. Bucky located 626's leash and put it on her so she didn't have to stay in the carrier. Steve asked Natasha to give them a week. She got them a cabin to stay in a couple hours from the Playground, and they left.

The sun went down on Steve and Bucky in a small rental cabin, with Bucky's head in Steve's lap and 626 suspiciously investigating her new surroundings, having recently chowed down on a can of Fancy Feast. "They were  _ idiots _ ," Bucky said, "and they scared the shit out of me anyway." He rubbed his eyes. "I can't do this. You know people from space, call them to get me off this fucking planet while there are still Hydra people."

"I don't have Thor's number," Steve said apologetically. "What were you going to tell me on the plane?"

"Huh?"

"You said you needed to tell me something when we were talking about the word that--"

"Oh, fuck. Yeah." Bucky sat up. "I have trigger words."

"More?"

"Uh, seven, maybe. Ten? I don't know. It's a set of words, and when someone says all of them in the right order, I go blank and I wake up on the other side, having done whatever it was I was trying to refuse to do."

Steve went still, which Bucky recognized as his typical attempt to avoid displays of white hot rage when the object of his fury wasn't around. "Who knows these words?" Steve asked carefully.

"I don't know. I think...I think Hydra doesn't, I think the Soviets didn't pass on that, because it didn't really happen after, well, I think it didn't, I don't know, but...but those guys knew my kill switch. I don't know. Fuck."

"Okay," Steve said with forced calm. "Okay. We can deal with this. I'll ask Natasha to reach out. Do you know what the words are?"

"No. If I try, they...I can't really understand them. I can recognize when it's happening."

The muscles in Steve's jaw and neck were so tight it looked like his head might explode. "I need to hug you."

"I know," Bucky said, opening his arms. "We need to fix this, because someone could make me…"

"We'll fix it," Steve declared, squeezing Bucky a little too tight. "We will. We have to. And don't even think about leaving me. That won't fix anything."

"Don't break me."

"Oh, god, sorry," Steve said, releasing Bucky. "Um.  _ Is _ it okay if I ask Natasha to look into this? Since we have no idea who might have this information."

Natasha was different, but she was sort of the same. Bucky didn't trust her, but Steve did, and she was the most likely to be able to find anything useful. "Yeah. It's okay." He stretched. "I need a shower. Join me."

Steve gave him a nod and called Natasha first, then followed Bucky into the shower. They cleaned up, and as Bucky dried off he considered asking Steve to touch him until it was too much, but he didn't. Steve cooked a mess of chicken and veggies on the porch grill for dinner, and then they lay in bed holding hands until they fell asleep.

Bucky woke up in silent terror three times and Steve jerked awake once. After that, they gave up on sleep and just held each other, as close and tight as they could, occasionally pressing little kisses to whatever patch of skin was nearest. They'd set up a perimeter with laser alarms if anyone entered through a door or window, but that didn't make Bucky feel significantly safer. His life was the kind of nightmare most people could never imagine. He was just so  _ tired. _ He wanted to be left alone, and for Hydra to be destroyed by someone else, and he wanted a nice long vacation on a beach. Steve and Bucky hadn't really gone to the beach in Sanibel, because the water was still and Bucky was trying to keep a low profile, so he couldn't take off his shirt and reveal his robot arm. He could interact with other people, sort of, without panicking, sometimes, but he didn't like it.

"How are we supposed to live like this?" he whispered at four in the morning.

"I don't know," Steve said. But they had each other, and that was comforting.

The next morning, they saw a scarlet tanager in the tree outside the cabin and watched it for half an hour before it flew away. 626 flicked her tail as she sat in the window, plotting to slaughter all the other birds. There weren't too many--a couple robins, a brown cardinal, a mockingbird, a brown thrasher, and a blue jay--but Bucky looked the thrasher and blue jay up, just in case, and checked them off. He wished he could just birdwatch normally without searching the perimeter every minute and listening for footsteps.

"If you could do anything, go anywhere," Steve said over lunch, "what would you want?"

"Somewhere tropical. With good birds."

"Costa Rica, maybe," Steve agreed. "We can go together."

"Well, yeah. When I wake up screaming five times every night, I'd rather not be alone."

Steve laughed. Almost. "Maybe therapy, then Costa Rica."

"You too."

"Mm." Steve was still being weird about therapy, but oh well. They'd get there.

At the end of the week, Natasha made them move again, but put the "press tour," or whatever it was going to be, on hold for another week, because she had a lead. The new place was in western Virginia, a rental house on a resort mountain. There were birds outside, and while 626 did not like all the open space on the main floor, she eventually claimed the corner of a couch and settled in. There was also a hot tub on the deck, but neither Bucky nor Steve felt safe enough to use it.

Four days into their stay, Natasha had a lead: a super secret evil auction where, it was rumored, information about the Winter Soldier would be sold to anyone with lots of money and the guts to use it. Obviously the Winter Soldier himself and his more famous boyfriend were poor choices to go undercover at an event like that, and Natasha's face was too well known lately, so she said she had an agent and she'd get back to them.

"You okay?" Steve asked after the phone call.

Bucky shrugged. "It's not exactly a change of pace to hear my life is up for sale."

"It's a nightmare."

"Yeah. That's what I said."

Steve hugged him. Now that Nat's tinny voice was no longer echoing in the space, 626 had ventured out from under the couch and was nosing at Bucky's shin.

"C'mere, doll," he said.

"I am here," Steve mumbled.

"Not you, the cat."

"She needs a new name," Steve said. "626 is so strange to say. And I don't think that was her original name either."

"I know. I'm waiting for the right one. I'm not gonna rush it." 626 jumped up and nestled against Bucky's thigh. He let her sniff his hand. She bit his fingers very gently, and he scratched her head. "Steve, when was the last time you painted?"

"I don't know. A while."

"Paint something."

Steve sighed deeply. "I can't. Not right now. Maybe later."

"You bought that little canvas and you never did anything with it," Bucky pressed.

Steve shrugged. "You bought three journals and haven't opened them."

"Yes, I have."

"Oh."

"You love painting. Why can't you?"

"I don't know, Bucky," Steve said, tired. "What do you want me to say?"

Steve didn't get mad at Bucky, but it made Bucky's guts hurt when Steve talked to him like that. That was how people talked to each other sometimes, and it was fine, he knew that, but as much as he wanted to try at some point to be more like a normal person, Steve was his world, his protector, his beloved, the only person he really trusted and wanted to be near, so when Steve was annoyed with him, Bucky's stupid overreacting body and mind and heart and everything had trouble handling it. "I just wanted you to hold on to Steve Rogers," Bucky mumbled, his shoulders coming up around his ears like a goddamn turtle. He hated being so pathetic. Besides, Steve wasn't lost like he was, so it was a stupid thing to say in the first place.

But Steve said, "Thank you," and hugged him tighter, tucking his head against Bucky's shoulder. "I um…" He swallowed. "I need that."

626 kneaded his thigh with one paw.

He didn't feel safe and he might never feel safe again, but he could take the bits of happiness that Steve and his cat offered. Hydra was nothing. Steve would tear apart any Nazi and the entire world to find him, and Steve had friends who could point him in the right direction, friends who were probably better than Bucky, but Steve didn't treat them as more important than him for a second. Natasha might be more put together, and not a crazy ex-POW with half his brain shocked into oblivion, but she wasn't sharing Steve's bed or his history. "Can I ask again tomorrow?" he said tentatively.

"Sure, Buck," Steve agreed. "That'd be fine. Keep me honest."

"I'll uh…" Bucky tried to remember the phrase. "I'll make you an honest man."

Steve hummed in amusement. "It's not legal here."

"Neither is any damn thing we've done or survived."

"Tell you what, sweetheart. You come up with a better proposal first."

"I will," Bucky said. "I will." He needed something to plan. These past two weeks had been hard. He had the cat and he looked at birds sometimes, but the times where he felt less like a person and more like an amalgamation of fear and confusion and pain had ramped up again. Maybe having something to look forward to would help. Maybe.

Hopefully.

**Author's Note:**

> This is getting close to the end of what I have written, so updates will be pretty slow at this point; I need to come up with an ending point as well.


End file.
